TPDoEQ, vol V: Tartan Holiday
by Lady Norbert
Summary: Elizabeth once again records the League's chaotic lives. While Mina tracks down her son, and Skinner tries to ask a longawaited question, the League is asked to locate one of England's greatest heroes, missing in action.
1. England, My Lionheart

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. V: Tartan Holiday**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** _About bloody time,_ I can hear you all saying. I've missed you too. I really intended to have this underway before now -- in fact, this first chapter has been sitting on my hard drive since February -- but real life has the most awful way of interfering with my life in fandom. 

So, what can you expect in this final installment of Elizabeth Quatermain's diary? Well, there's going to be a lot of chasing around after missing relatives. There's going to be an engagement, but I can't promise that there's going to be a wedding. There will be the introduction of some new characters, and the temporary addition of two extremely famous characters from Victorian literature. 

There's also going to be, and I apologize but there is simply no way around it, a lot of time passing between the posting of chapters. It just can't be helped. Between my day job and my other real-world responsibilites, to say nothing of another project which causes me to lose sleep from time to time, and the simple fact that as of right now I'm not 100 certain where this story is headed, it will take a long time to get it all done. Also, I regret to say that I am frequently without the assistance of Teri the Wonder Beta, who is still amazing in all respects but has too many time restrictions of her own. So it will be a slow process.

I hope you'll find it worth sticking with me, though, and that you'll be of the opinion, when all is said and done, that I've done my little Quatermain justice.

As a final note, this story is dedicated with much affection to the twelve people on planet Earth who call me "Mom."

-----------------------

_6 June 1900_

Rodney and I decided to wait until today to let the others know that things are -- I almost said "back to normal" between us, but this is not exactly the same as it was before Everett interfered in our relationship. I'm not certain if there's a word for what we are to each other now. We're not engaged, of course, but we're certainly not just friends anymore either. 

I suppose that, really, he's my beau. That seems terribly strange to me; then again, giving him any sort of title seems odd. He's Rodney, plain and simple. Only that's not quite right either, because now I can say with perfect truth that he's _my_ Rodney. 

I'm turning into a rather giddy thing. 

In any event, I must note that no one appeared particularly startled by the revelation that we have established this relationship between ourselves. Indeed, Tom appeared almost buoyant, and more than a little smug. The others took it a bit more mildly, though there was something like relief in each of their faces. I suppose they've been anticipating this for some time. I wish I could have been half so confident that things would work out as they have. 

---

_8 June 1900_

We have decided, after much debate over last night's dinner, to make a return visit to my own dear England. The reasons for this are numerous, and have not all been made plain, but part of the plan seems to be to disembark the _Nautilus_ in London and make our way north to the wilds of Scotland. Along the way we will make many stops; among these will be Stonehenge, which I've often wished to visit. The legends say that the great stones were originally placed in Ireland, but King Arthur's mentor Merlin brought them to England with his magic arts. At any rate, no one knows exactly how the stones came to be in the positions they are. 

Our stay in London will be brief compared to last time, for which I'm grateful. On our last visit, I left my old friend Constance and her husband with the mistaken impression that I was married to Tom, so it would strike them as more than a little peculiar if I should encounter them while walking the streets on Rodney's arm. London is of course big enough that I could probably avoid them entirely, but the idea of having to swallow my pride and confess to the ruse is unpleasant, and I would rather not take a chance on having to do so. 

I am actually a little puzzled over some of the reasons for our return to England. Mina seems distressed by something, but I have not yet learned what troubles her. Rodney too seems very thoughtful about the prospect of being in London once more. It occurs to me for the first time that he may still be a wanted man for his former crimes there, and now that he is visible once again, it will be easier for the police to mark him. Oh, dear. 

--

_11 June 1900_

Nemo says we may anticipate arrival in the docks of London tomorrow morning. We shall stay in port for perhaps a week, mostly to give the crewmen time to replenish supplies; once the League and I disembark to begin our travels north, the _Nautilus_ will return to sea and travel around the island to wait for us off the coast of Scotland. Exactly where we will rendezvous with the ship I am not certain, but by the same token, it's not as though I especially need to be concerned with such details. I shall, of course, go where the others do. 

Or at least, I shall do so when given the opportunity. Mina finally confessed to the rest of us -- apart from Henry, in whom she had naturally already confided -- her personal reasons for desiring to return to England. She and Henry had, as I mentioned in a previous entry, contemplated the prospect of breaking from the League and establishing a home and a life in the country, away from prying eyes, but in the short term at least they have decided against such a plan. However, Mina has been keeping a secret all this time, at least from myself; whether the others knew, I cannot say. 

That Mina was the widow of Jonathan Harker, I knew. What I did not know was that she and her late husband had a child, a boy born on the anniversary of the day when Dracula was defeated. They named him for all of those who had been involved with the fight against the vampire, but familiarly called him Quincey, after their friend who had perished in the struggle. 

It was not until some time after her son's birth that Mina began to realise Dracula had not been defeated in time to completely save her from turning. Quincey was a young man, barely sixteen, when his father died, and Mina had by then deduced the truth about herself. Already Quincey was beginning to wonder why his mother seemed not to change with age, and she knew that she could not keep her secret from him for long. She therefore staged her own death a few months later, setting fire to the small guest cottage of a friend whom she was visiting; the building was reduced to utter rubble, and Quincey was left with the belief that his mother's body had been incinerated beyond the possibility of burial.

"That my son has moved on with his life, I do not doubt," she concluded. "And I have no wish to disrupt his life by suddenly returning from the dead. I only wish to try to learn what has become of him, and if I can, to lay my eyes on him once more -- from a distance." There was an expression on her lovely face such as I have never seen there before. "I have missed him so." 

I ached for Mina then, though I will not pretend I could perfectly well understand what she must have been feeling. I have, of course, never been a mother, and I daresay one cannot relate to her kind of pain without knowing what it is to have a child of one's own. For her sake, I hope we are able to locate Quincey. After Mina's "death" he was taken into the household of Dr. John Seward, one of the gentlemen for whom he was named, and it seems plausible that he was apprenticed to the same. Dr. Seward was the caretaker of an asylum, not far outside of London, so it would appear that is the place to begin making inquiries about Quincey. 

---

_12 June 1900_

Ah, to be in London once more. The snow which blanketed the scenery on our last visit is, of course, long gone; it is very nearly the start of summer. 

I spent part of the morning preparing for our journey north. As we will have little in the way of a crewman escort -- a mere six attendants -- I am endeavouring to travel lightly. My grandfather's sea chest seems most practical for the trip, because of the amount of packing space it provides and, of course, because of the money concealed in its false bottom. I will not take the entire amount with me; not even I can be that naive. I believe I've packed everything I intend to bring, with the obvious exception of this diary, which I will add to the trunk just before we depart. 

Rodney does not seem precisely excited about the prospect of being in London, and if my previous thoughts on the subject are accurate, I cannot honestly blame him. But there seems to be more to the matter than I believed, and I hope that he will confide it to me before much longer. 

I am trying, goodness knows I am trying to refrain from filling these diary pages with the sort of silliness that young women in love are supposed to write. To an extent I have found the labour easy enough; I have written so much about Rodney in the past that it hardly seems worth the trouble to describe him further. (Though I confess that I am oft undone by the blue of his eyes -- ah, there I go, doing what I swore I would not!) Then too, in many respects, nothing between us has changed; he still amuses me with his odd observations and quick-witted comments. The thing which troubles me, in perfect truth, is that I find myself wondering whether it is entirely proper for us to be alone together. This never worried me in the past, when we were often alone together. But now that there is a sort of official status to our bond, it seems somewhat against the laws of propriety. I know, I must sound dreadfully absurd, and yet I cannot help wondering. 

In any case, I do not think it will matter a great deal before much longer, since I do not anticipate being alone with him very often on the journey through England and Scotland. And I must, in his defence, observe that he is a gentleman on the occasions when we are together unchaperoned; apart from that unexpectedly torrid kiss of a few nights ago, he has conducted himself most discreetly, confining the gestures of his affection chiefly to my hand. It seems very silly, in some ways, that we should be so...I'm uncertain as to the word I wish to use. In some ways we're almost nervous around each other. Before this, or at least before the advent of Everett, ours was a very natural and easy friendship. Now that it is, formally, something beyond friendship, it has become difficult to be so easy and natural as we once were. I suppose it is merely the newness of it all, and once we are accustomed to our altered relationship, all will be well.


	2. A Surprise, But Not Really

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. V: Tartan Holiday**  
by Lady Norbert

A/N: Where the heck did the summer go? Well, I hope no one will be too upset with what I'm about to say. I know it's been a while for updates, and this will be the last one for a bit of time – with school starting, things will be busier all over, plus my birthday is coming up shortly and my husband and I are going away for the occasion. However! To make up for the lack of updates, I've decided to rearrange the planned schedule of events in the story just a little bit, to finally give you something that I know many of you have been anticipating for quite some time. I promise that the meat of the story is coming, and I hope you'll like it when it does. (Have I mentioned that this installment is probably going to be unusually long? I trust no one will object to that.) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

One other thing – if there's ever anything you've wanted to ask about the stories (other than plot spoilers) or something you don't understand, you are always welcome to email me at plotbunnies at hotmail dot com. I'd love to hear from some of you!

---

_13 June 1900_

It occurred to me, for the first time, to inquire with the captain how exactly we will be traveling north, if not on the ship. Surely, I reasoned, his peculiar automobile would not be big enough for all of us as well as the half dozen crewmen who are to accompany us? Then too, the use of the vehicle would undoubtedly attract much attention, and not necessarily that of a welcome sort.

"No, you're quite correct," Nemo agreed, when I presented my thought process. "Jaya has purchased two horse-drawn carriages for our transport purposes. We ourselves will ride in one, and my men will follow in the second with our things. Two of my men are, even as we speak, learning to drive the carriages, so we need not hire outsiders to convey us."

I should of course have realized that Nemo would have the matter already settled. He never seems to mind, however, when I question him about such things; indeed, he always appears amused, and somewhat gratified.

Mina and Henry returned in the evening after a day of making inquiries into Quincey's whereabouts. It was easy to see, from their expressions and especially from hers, that they met with little success. They returned not entirely without news; apparently, Quincey's guardian, Dr. Seward, succumbed to a fever a few years ago. Quincey, they had also managed to learn, was by that time a married man, and a doctor in his own right. But where he was living at the time of Dr. Seward's death, and where he may be living now, is, as yet, unknown.

---

_14 June 1900_

And so today I found out, at least in part, why Rodney has been acting so strangely.

To say that I was surprised is, perhaps, the understatement of the year.

After the Jekylls departed for their day's investigations into the missing Quincey, he came and invited me to go for a stroll. We took a hansom cab to Battersea Park, which is some way down the Thames from where the _Nautilus_ stands in port. It is considered by some to be the most interesting of all the London parks, and certainly it is very scenic and beautiful.

I put up my parasol and took the arm Rodney offered me, and we walked along the river's edge for some time. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we didn't; to be perfectly truthful, I could not, if questioned, remember a single thing either of us said for the large part of the stroll. What happened later was enough to completely erase most of the day's details from my mind.

We paused, for a little, on the bank of the river, but then turned our path inward, away from the water. It was a fair day, if a little cloudy, and there were many people also walking. This seemed to bother Rodney a good deal, though for what reason I could not fathom. In all the months of our acquaintance, after all, I have never known him to be anything approaching shy. Finally, our path carried us around a bend, and into a more secluded part of the park. We found a bench that was slightly obscured by some greenery from the main portion of the trail, and here we sat.

"Can I get your opinion on something, Bess?"

I assured him that he could. From some inner pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a small box and passed it to me. "What d'you make of that, then?"

Puzzled, I opened it, and promptly came very near to dropping it. The box contained nothing but a single ring, five little diamonds in a row upon a golden band.

"It's…it's exquisite."

"You like it?"

"Certainly." Could he possibly, I wondered, be implying what I thought he might be implying?

"Thought maybe you'd want it. 'Course, there's a catch." He chuckled a bit. "I sort of come with it."

Ah. So that was _exactly_ what he was implying. I was dizzy with shock and with joy, but I somehow mastered myself enough to reply, with equal jocularity, "So what you're saying is that I may have this lovely ring, but only if I also have you?"

"Right. Two for one special, an' all."

"But if I don't accept one, I cannot have the other?"

"Er…yeah." He looked suddenly uneasy, and I had to relent.

"Well, perhaps that's just as well," I teased him. "I don't know that I'd want this ring if I didn't get you also."

His expression cleared, and those wonderful blue eyes lit up. "Is that a yes?"

"That entirely depends on the nature of the question."

"You're going to make me do this, aren't you…"

"Yes, yes, I am." I was trying desperately not to smile, but only marginally succeeding.

"Oh…all right." He took the box and, slipping from the bench, arranged himself on one knee in a ridiculously over-dramatic pose. He held the box in one hand, and with the other he seized my hand and pressed it theatrically. Then he opened his mouth, presumably to utter some wild speech, but nothing came out. An odd look crossed his features, and he lapsed into that serious demeanour we see so rarely in him.

"Marry me?" His voice was slightly hoarse.

I do not think I need to record what my answer was.

_later_

A rather comical postscript must be added to what would otherwise have been a terribly romantic entry in this diary. After some more time alone, we returned to the _Nautilus_, and once our party was again complete (the Jekylls still having no concrete news to share), we made the announcement that they, evidently, have been anticipating.

"I presume," said Mina, "that this will be a relatively short engagement. It was, after all, an unusually long courtship."

"There was a courtship?" I asked. She gave me a very wry look.

"Elizabeth, have you _been_ here for the past eight months?"

I let that pass without comment. Nemo sent one of his men to bring us wine, insisting that we must celebrate, and very soon Jaya appeared with two of the crewmen, bearing bottles and glasses. The first mate inquired what we were celebrating.

"The betrothal of Sahib Skinner and Missee Sahib Quatermain," Nemo replied, using the formal titles with which the crew was accustomed to addressing us.

One of the men said something then in Hindustani, which I of course did not understand, but which prompted Nemo, Jaya, and the other crewman to laugh most heartily. "What's so funny?" asked Rodney, looking a bit nettled.

Jaya translated, and had the good grace to appear somewhat embarrassed. Never in my life could I have guessed what he would tell us! It would seem that several of the crew members have been placing wagers on how long it would take before Rodney finally asked me to marry him. A few people have already lost sums of money, having wagered that it would have happened much sooner than this.

"Wait a minute," said Tom. "You mean that the crew has had a betting pool about how long this was gonna take?"

"That is correct, Agent Sawyer."

"That reminds me," said my 'almost-brother,' turning to Henry. "Pay up, doc."


	3. Quincey Harker's Fate

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Volume V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I _never_ meant to let almost two months go by without another update, but...oh, goodness, it's just been hectic as anything. And with the holidays coming, I knew I needed to get back in the saddle before it got worse. I have a few announcements, though.

First, if you haven't visited my website lately, please go and do so. There is a host of new art from a wonderfully talented new fan artist by the name of Ella, who is doing a series of pictures of the EQ series. (The picture of the group when Elizabeth saw Skinner for the first time after he took his cure actually made me cry.)

Second, if you ever visit Fiction please drop in on the pen name "Lady Draven," half of which is me. The other half is Lyn Draven, and together we have been working on a dark fantasy epic called "Broken Boughs." We will eventually be joining forces on a (non-LXG) fan fiction project as well, so watch for that name on this site too.

Okay, enough of that. I know you've all been waiting for this next bit, so here we go. Much love!

-----

_16 June 1900_

I must confess that I spend a rather ridiculous amount of time in admiring my engagement ring.

We had a long talk yesterday, Rodney and I, once the initial shock of our engagement had worn off. I was very curious about the origins of the ring, and he finally admitted that he had actually purchased it in St. Petersburg! That was where he had gone on the morning after the ball -- he was going to broach the subject of marriage with me that very night, but then the business of Everett got in the way, and the poor darling never really had a chance.

We've discussed the matter, and as we are both Scottish by descent, we think it would be nice to get married in Scotland. He plans to wear a kilt -- the Skinner family tartan -- and I will wear my mother's wedding gown, with a sash in the Campbell family tartan. My grandmother for whom I was named, Father's mother, was a Campbell by birth. I have asked Mina to stand as my matron of honour, and to my immense delight, Tom will stand as Rodney's best man, with Henry also standing as a groomsman. Nemo has consented, once again, to give me away. As it was already our intention to travel to Scotland, this will not hinder our plans in the slightest, and we will culminate the journey with our marriage celebration. I have shed more than a few tears of happiness in recent days.

Rodney had one other request for me, which startled me when he put it forth.

"Bessie," he said, once we were alone again, "d'you remember me tellin' you about my family?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Yes," I said at length, recalling the conversation we'd had on our last visit to London, when he had accompanied me home from visiting my mother's grave. He had spoken of his parents, and his brother, and the circumstances which led to his life on the streets.

"Remember I told you my niece is a bit younger than you?"

"Alexandra, wasn't it?"

"Aye. Well...listen, Bess...'cept for you, and the League, she's all I've got in the way of family, and...I'd really like to have her at the wedding. I talked to Nemo about it, and he said if I can find her, he's got no quarrel with bringin' her along on the trip north." He appeared a bit hesitant, running his fingers nervously through his unruly red curls. "But...what do you think?"

"Why..." I was a little surprised that he needed to ask. "Rodney, I know only too well how much I wish my family could be with us on our special day. Of course your niece should be there. Besides, as she's your family, she'll be mine as well before too long; it's only right I should get to meet and know her."

I...shall decline to record exactly what happened after that little exchange, except to say that he has a rather affectionate manner of showing his gratitude.

-----

_18 June 1900_

How I grieve for Mina today!

She and Henry have been rather quiet about the ongoing search for her son Quincey; perhaps they felt that the details might detract from the celebratory atmosphere which has surrounded the engagement news. But this evening they returned to the ship looking very subdued, and we implored them to tell us what had happened.

Quincey Harker...it pains me even to write it. Quincey Harker is dead.

It seems that some of our conjecture was correct; he was indeed apprenticed to Dr. Seward, and became a physician in his own right. Dr. Seward passed on some years ago, and Quincey took over his practice. He married, too, and his life was comfortable until an outbreak of fever struck many of the patients in his care. He nursed them diligently, but he himself fell ill and, worse, passed the fever to his young wife as well. They both lost their battle.

My heart ached for Mina as she recounted what they learned, and how they had gone to see the grave of her son -- he and his wife were interred beside her first husband, Jonathan, whose grave she had never been able to bring herself to visit. She could not weep; it was beyond her ability to weep. Yet the pain was clear in her cool eyes as she stared numbly at each of us in turn. I pitied her in that instant, for being unable to shed human tears, to give proper voice to her grief.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, no one certain what to say. Then Henry said, quietly, "There's more."

"More?" Tom repeated. "What else?"

We were all seated at the table in the stateroom except for Henry, who stood behind his wife with his hand on her shoulder. Mina had been staring at her reflection in the table, but slowly she raised her head.

"I'm a grandmother."

We all stared at her. "You...what?" I heard myself asking.

Quincey and his wife, Lavinia, had a son about a year after their marriage. The boy, called Jonathan for his grandfather, had been taken in by a neighbour when his parents fell ill. But the neighbour had a family of his own to support, could not afford an extra mouth, and so after the Harkers died, little Jonathan was taken to an orphanage in London.

"We found him," Henry said, picking up the thread of the story when it seemed Mina could no longer carry it. "He is a healthy little boy, sweet-tempered from what we could see. We...we wanted to bring him home, right away, but..."

"But we didn't feel right without telling the rest of you," Mina put in. She looked to Nemo. "You have been graciousness itself," she told him, "and I did not dare further impose on you by bringing a small child aboard the submarine without at least seeking your approval. If you would prefer that we not do such a thing, Henry and I have agreed to do as we once discussed, and take up residence in a house here in England. But make no mistake, any of you -- I lost my son. I am not losing my grandson too."

It was growing late -- it is, now, quite late -- and so we all elected to sleep on this news, and discuss it again in the morning when our heads are clearer. I am much amazed by the entire development. Mina a grandmother? It almost defies comprehension. I do wonder what the decision will be, and whether our company is now to increase by one or decrease by two.


	4. Baby On Board

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: How...did it get...to be MARCH?

Good grief. You all are probably ready to throttle me. I know I said this was going to be a long time progressing (mostly because it ties into the other project I'm working on), but I never meant to leave a gap of almost five months between chapters. I promise that will never happen again. But this time I'll warn you -- the next chapter won't be appearing until next month. Two of my fellow LXG fan writers are coming all the way from merry olde England to visit me at the end of March, and so I don't expect to work on this again until after they've gone back home. Hopefully this new chapter will tide you over for a while.

Did I mention this would be a really long volume? Anyway...time for me to introduce you to a couple of new characters. And awaaaaay we go. Thanks for your patience and much love for all the wonderful reviews. (Shameless plug: Visit my website, if you haven't already! The new fan artist, Ella, has churned out six pieces of art for this series and has several more she plans to do! She's amazing! Okay, plug over.)

-----

_19 June 1900_

It was with some apprehension that I approached the breakfast table this morning, for I knew that whatever decision had been made about keeping our company intact -- or not, as the case might be -- would be announced over the morning meal. I could not imagine Nemo turning our friends out for so natural an inclination as wanting to be with kith and kin; and yet, I could see where having a small child aboard the _Nautilus_ might be a bit of a problem. There was no way to be sure what his answer to them would be.

For my own part, such as I might be asked to offer my opinion, I thought it would be rather enjoyable to have a little one on board. I rather like children; I often tutored our neighbours' little ones back in Devonshire, and once even acted as a midwife to deliver a baby girl when no other doctor could be found in time. Goodness, I haven't thought on that incident for some time. Little Evangeline would be nearly eight years old now! I wonder how she is faring...I have heard from none of Aunt's acquaintances since I moved back to London after her death.

But this is all quite irrelevant to the situation. I entered the stateroom and, when we were all assembled, began to eat my breakfast without comment; it seemed inappropriate that I should be the one to bring up the subject, after all. Finally, however, I heard Henry clear his throat, and I put down my spoon and looked at him.

"Well, I imagine you've all thought ove our announcement from last night," he said in his gentle voice. "I know I've personally thought of little else. So...what say you?" The question was addressed to all of us, but his blue eyes were steadily fixed on Nemo.

The captain glanced round at the rest of us, evidently waiting for us to offer an opinion, but neither Tom nor Rodney nor I were quite willing to speak up. After a few minutes' silence, he said, "My own children are long gone...and neither one survived to an age where they could give me grandchildren. But if they had, I would be no less eager than you to be reunited with one of my own flesh and blood. No, my friends, I would not think to deny you. Bring the boy to the ship...bring him home." He glanced around again, perhaps to see if anyone would object, but I could see that both Rodney and Tom's faces reflected my own feelings on the matter.

For the first time since she had learned of her son's death, there was light in Mina's eyes. "You are...certain of this?" she asked, as though not prepared to believe her own ears.

"I am," Nemo replied simply. "If he is your family, then -- he is _our_ family."

I do love the captain dearly. Now more than ever, I think.

-----

_20 June 1900_

Most of yesterday was spent preparing for the imminent arrival of little Jonathan. I am consistently amazed at the efficiency of Nemo and his crew. The cabin directly adjacent to Henry and Mina's has been made suitable for a four-year-old boy, with protective rails added to the sides of the bed to keep him from falling out in his sleep. Every precaution has been taken to make the room safe for him, and it is unlikely that he will be alone in there very often anyway, as his doting adoptive parents are, I imagine, reluctant to let him out of their sight.

While all of this was happening, I accompanied Mina on a shopping trip to procure clothes and toys and other articles for the new addition to the League family. The change in her demeanor is profound. I do not believe that she will ever stop being the tall, cool, gracious figure I have come to admire and respect, but there is a new animation to her every move. She seems filled with a kind of joy that not even the happiness of her marriage has lent to her being. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from Longfellow, although the gender does not apply. _"Every man has secret sorrows...we call a man cold who is only sad."_

"I suppose," said I, "that it would be foolish of me to inquire whether you are excited."

"I have my family back, Elizabeth," she said. "Such as remains of it. I hoped that my son had found happiness, and started a family of his own, but I never dared to hope that I might somehow be a part of it again. And I cannot expect that I will ever give Henry children; this is perhaps his only chance to ever be a father."

"He is taking it well, then?"

"He is. I really believe he is nearly as happy as I am."

I could not resist asking. "And Edward?"

She paused, and threw me one of her inscrutable gazes. "I have not asked. But I think if Edward had objections, I would have found out by now."

"I'm sure he has none," I replied. "He loves you too, in his own way."

"Yes. And I love him, too, in my own way." It is the most she has ever said to me about her feelings for either of her husband's personalities.

We returned to the submarine later in the afternoon, and spent most of our remaining energy in putting Jonathan's new clothes in the wardrobe and filling the shelves with his new toys and books. I had to tell Rodney he was not allowed to sit on the new rocking horse, and he gave me the most comical look of disappointment. In all honesty, however, I think everyone is looking forward to the boy's arrival.

Mina and Henry have gone today to see about the legal matters of the adoption. I was surprised to learn that they do not anticipate much difficulty in receiving permission to adopt Jonathan. But apparently, the orphanage where he has been living is somewhat overcrowded, and to hand a child off to a relation will mean freeing up valuable space and resources for the rest of the children. It is not a bad place, the Jekylls assure us; the roof is intact, the children are decently clothed, and the people seem kindly. Still, I don't doubt they are eager to get him out of there and into their own keeping as soon as possible.

-----

_21 June 1900_

And so, as of this afternoon, I am no longer the youngest person living aboard the _Nautilus_! That honor belongs to Jonathan Harker Jekyll, as he is now to be known.

He is a sturdy, well-grown boy of four, with black hair; he has inherited his grandmother's icy blue eyes, but otherwise she insists that he looks just as his father did at that age. Those icy eyes were wide with astonishment as he took in the submarine for the first time, and almost instinctively he buried his face in Henry's collar as he was carried up the ramp. He is a bit shy, but is slowly warming up to us. By dinnertime he was calm enough to sit at the table and eat with us; Nemo's endless ingenuity has resulted in a special chair which lifts Jonathan up high enough that he can look at us while he eats, and yet is fashioned in such a way as to keep the child from falling to the floor.

He articulates rather well for such a little man, though long names seem to give him trouble. For the time being, at least, I must adjust to being addressed as "Lizabeff," which is one-half of "Lizabeff an' Roddy." Nemo and Tom, at least, he can pronounce with ease, and he seems to have had little trouble with calling Mina and Henry "Mama and Papa." Quincey and Lavinia died over two years ago, so it is doubtful that he remembers his real parents at all, and this probably accounts for some of the smoothness of the transition.

Speaking of "Roddy," he pulled me aside after dinner to say that tomorrow, he is heading into the city in search of his niece Alexandra. Apparently he has been making a few discreet inquiries, though in light of the recent events he's not wanted to discuss them, and he has a general idea of where he might find her. His dreaded sister-in-law passed on sometime last year, and so now Alexandra is just as alone in the world as little Jonathan was until today.

"So Nemo said she can stay," he told me, "for a while at least. I'm nervous, Bess. Don't think she'll remember me. And what if all she knows of me is any lie Beatrice might've taken it into her head to tell the girl? She might hate me already."

I did the best I could to console him, but in truth, his fears are legitimate. If Beatrice Skinner detested her husband's brother as much as he made it sound, then she very likely could have poisoned Alexandra's mind against her uncle. Or, just as unhelpful, she might have pretended he never existed; she was only a toddler when her father died, after all. She might not even realize or remember that she has an uncle.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.

He looked like he was considering it, but finally shook his head. "Probably better if I face her alone, first. That way if she has any vitriol to spit at me, you don't have to see it. But I'll tell her about you, if she'll listen, and maybe meeting you after will make it easier."

Perhaps it will. I can hope, at least, for his sake -- and also for hers. If Alexandra doesn't remember her uncle, or only knows him in a poor light painted by her mother, then she undoubtedly believes she has no one in the world. I have been in that place myself, and it is a wretchedly lonely place to be.


	5. The Family Grows

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**  
by Lady Norbert

A/N: I am so, so sorry. 

As some of you found out, either from my FFN profile or from my website or through the grapevine, my grandmother died just before Easter. (As a matter of fact -- remember I said two friends were coming from England? She passed away while they were here. It was complicated.) I appreciate the efforts many of you made to contact me and express your condolences, it was very sweet. Anyway, as a result of that, plus a few other things, my muses pretty much went on strike. Getting any writing done in recent weeks has been a real uphill struggle. But I'm here now, with a new chapter for you, and I beg you'll forgive the delay. 

A brief note about Alexandra Skinner, who we are about to meet for the first time...Alex has the distinction of being the only character in my storyverse who is based on an actual person. (Well, unless you buy the theory that Elizabeth is me in a corset.) Her real-life counterpart is no less an important personage than my own best friend Jessica, and so Jess helped me a lot with her character and reactions to things. I owe her quite a bit of thanks; I also owe a debt of gratitude to friend and fellow writer Raven Silvers, who came up with one aspect of the uncle-niece relationship that I found too endearing not to use. 

Finally, sort of as a way of apologizing for the repeated delays, and also as a way of thanking you all for making this so much fun, I'm happy to announce that I'm running a CONTEST based on the EQ series! Visit my website -- the link is in my profile -- and check out the details. My dear friend Ella has sent me some more fan art (anyone want to see a picture of Elizabeth dancing with Everett, and Skinner watching furiously?), and that actually does have something to do with the contest, so by all means check it out. And have fun! 

-----

_22 June 1900_

It is just past the noon meal as I write this entry. My dear Rodney spent all morning in a terrible fit of nerves, for as soon as we finished eating, he left ship to go in search of his niece Alexandra. From what he has managed to gather -- and though I suspect he may have contacted one or two of his old underworld cronies, I would prefer not to know if that is the case -- Alexandra's mother sold their family home some time after Rodney made his forced departure from their lives, and they moved to a small flat in Kensington. Since her mother's death, Alexandra has made a living for herself as a music teacher, residing in that same flat and having students come to her for piano and singing lessons. 

"She's going to hate me," he told me in private conference, just before luncheon. "Don't know what Beatrice might've told her about me. Probably thinks I'm an axe murderer, or Jack the Ripper, or something." 

"Did your sister-in-law hate you as much as all that?" I asked him. 

He shrugged. "I think she resented that they had to take me in so soon after they were married. Felt like she and Robert never had any privacy, almost from day one, because of me." 

"That was hardly your fault. Your parents had died, where else could she have expected you to go?" 

"Don't think she much cared where I went, so long as I wasn't _there_." He looked, for a moment, like that little boy he had once been, a bit lost. Then he moved over to where I stood, and caught my hand and squeezed it briefly. "How did I get on before there was you, eh?" 

"One wonders," I replied dryly. He just laughed, and kissed my cheek. 

_later_

It is nearly teatime -- half past three, to be precise -- and still no sign of Rodney. What can be taking so long? Did Alexandra shut the door in his face, and he cannot bring himself to come back and tell us so? 

-----

_23 June 1900_

By the time I got to my quarters last night, I was much too weary to update. However, I am pleased to report that Tom's wish, from back at Christmas, has been granted. I did record that he made the remark that "We need more girls on this ship," and now we have another one. 

Alexandra is tall -- goodness, nearly as tall as Mina, I feel quite diminutive. She has red hair like her uncle, though with a bit more of an auburn tint than his, and her eyes are hazel rather than bright blue. I have already told her, laughing, that if she takes to calling me "Aunt Elizabeth" after the marriage I shall never forgive her; she seemed rather astonished when I invited her to stand as bridesmaid on the day, but she is, after all, family. 

Our first moment of introduction was a bit comical, for we could not look much more different if we tried; she really does tower over me somewhat. I heard Rodney call out as they walked through the ship; I was waiting in the library, and in they came. Despite how tall she is, I could see at once that Alex (for such has she asked us to call her) was a bit cowed by her magnificent surroundings, and I only too well remembered feeling much the same when I first boarded the ship. I endeavoured, therefore, to make her feel as welcome as possible. 

"It's been an all too brief reunion with Uncle Rodney," said she, disengaging her arm from his to shake hands, "but I know you must be Elizabeth." 

"Guilty as charged," I laughed. "I can only imagine what he must have told you of me; please take it all with a grain of salt." 

"Salt doesn't go well with sweet, and it's all been good." Her smile was shy, unlike her uncle's boisterous grins. 

"That's just the trouble. Your uncle has an exaggerated opinion of my goodness." We both looked at him then, chuckling together, and he just laughed at us. 

"I'm in over my head now, aren't I? My girls are gonna gang up on me, I can see it already. Well, why don't I go let Nemo know you're here, Alex, and give you time to get acquainted." He gave us each a kiss on the cheek and disappeared down the corridor; I could hear him whistling as he went. 

I quite like the girl. She has a strong spirit. (Well, she _is_ a Skinner!) We actually have a fair bit in common, for she is as fond of literature as I am myself; she is also musical, something I cannot claim to be. Rodney left the two of us alone in the library for almost an hour before teatime, and she gave me the details of their meeting. The reason it took so long for him to return to the ship was because he was telling her...well, everything, really. 

"I didn't know him, at first," she admitted. "But when he told me who he was, I remembered him, a little. I was only two when Father died, you know, and Uncle Rodney left us not long after that. He called me ducky, and that brought him to mind almost at once." 

"Ducky?" 

She chuckled. "When I was little, I was...as he will no doubt tell you...fond of baths. He used to call me duckling, or ducky for short." 

"Ah. He does have rather a penchant for bestowing pet names," said I with a chuckle, recalling how he had dubbed me _Bess_ almost from the first. 

Over tea she met the rest of the 'family,' and if my eyes do not deceive me on the matter, she appears to be just a bit taken with my dear almost-brother. Given my own past feelings on the subject, I am hardly in a position to blame her. Actually, the more I know of her, the more I feel that they might be very well suited; when she spoke of running off as a child to climb trees in order to read in peace, I laughed and told her that she sounded very much like a blending of myself and Tom. She was, in turn, much interested to hear of Tom's youthful induction into the Secret Service, how he rescued me from a watery death only days after our first meeting, and how he cleared Rodney's name in the unfortunate White House mishap. No, it is hardly difficult to imagine that she might already be leaning in that direction, though it must be said in fairness that I may simply be so enamoured of my own betrothal that I'm looking to ensnare the rest of my friends in a similar condition! Still, it would not at all be a bad thing if it did come to pass between them, and I know Rodney agrees with me. Time will tell, I suppose. 

-----

_24 June 1900_

Nemo -- in his unending generosity -- has given permission for Alexandra to bring her piano onto the ship. In fact, he seemed rather pleased about the idea, and asked her if she would consent to keeping it in the stateroom rather than in her own quarters. The captain is more of a music lover than I would have guessed. 

She has been given rooms very close to my own, which is convenient for her; and in a few months' time that will bring her uncle close to her as well. (I blush to write that detail, but we have agreed that Rodney will move into my rooms, rather than I into his, chiefly on account of the herbarium.) It means that I am always near at hand should she need help finding her way or have some other difficulty with which I can assist, and then too, it allows us greater opportunity to strengthen our friendship. I cannot describe how lovely it is to have another young woman on hand with whom to converse; I think the world of Mina, but we have never been terribly close, and although I adore Tom and could never have asked for a better or more devoted friend, having a female companion of my own age is refreshing. 

I went with Alex, along with Tom and Rodney, to help her with her transition out of her London flat and onto the _Nautilus_. We let the men deal with the struggle of taking the piano back to the ship, while Alex wrote letters to her music students and returned the keys to her landlord; the flat she has been tenanting was furnished, and only the piano was her own. I meanwhile turned my attention to packing up her wardrobe and other personal effects, and it was in the process of this that I made the inadvertent discovery of Alex's financial situation. 

It did not take great observational skills to recognize that a number of her garments were trending toward threadbare, and so I remarked to her that we would need to go shopping at some point to select her attire for the wedding. This was, admittedly, a bit of subterfuge on my part, for it is already fairly well established that she will be wearing a long kilt and sash in the Skinner family tartan. It served the purpose of opening the dialogue, however. 

"Mother died last year," she mused, looking at the black clothing I was folding and stowing into a trunk, "and I haven't really had...time...to get new garments. I've very little patience for dressmakers, in truth." 

"Well, I know we are expected to leave on our journey north before too much longer," said I. "Perhaps we could go and get you a few things before we depart London. I'm sure you'll want to have more comfortable clothing for the trip, we'll be outdoors a good deal." I explained how I had been obliged to shorten my mourning period for Father on account of our visit to Egypt, adding that "black crape is hardly suitable attire for boating on the Nile, and even as it was I fainted from the heat." 

Alex sighed. "The truth of it is, Elizabeth," she said, sitting down on her bed and regarding me frankly, "I was going to lose this flat next month. I inherited what money Mother had to leave me, but I lost most of it in a bad investment on the advice of a well-meaning but misguided friend. My teaching jobs haven't made up the difference, and I didn't know where I was going to go or what I was going to do once I couldn't make the rent. Uncle Rodney walked back into my life at exactly the right moment -- the League is a godsend." 

"The League has something of a history of rescuing 'damsels in distress' in situations like that," I assured her, and then I gave her a succinct explanation of my own history and how I came to live with them. 

"And I cannot express how grateful I am for the rescue. But it isn't that I haven't had time to get new clothes -- I haven't had the money." 

I could sense that I needed to tread carefully, for I had no desire to humiliate her nor injure her pride. "Well," I said after a moment's consideration, "how would this do? I'll go into town with you, and we'll get what you need for your wardrobe, and in exchange, you shall teach me to play the piano. I've always wanted to learn, you know; my mother, according to my aunt, was a very gifted pianist, but after she died the piano in our house was never played again. Really, I would deem it a personal kindness." 

She looked torn, and I feared I'd overstepped my bounds in my desire to help her. But then she smiled, and agreed, with relief in her voice rather than offence. I know of a ladies' clothier that carries a number of ready-made pieces, which are less expensive than tailored, and my mention of this seemed to ease her remaining misgivings; I am a reasonable enough seamstress that I can almost certainly make any alterations she might need. And I have not in the least exaggerated my desire to learn piano, for it is one skill I have never been able to master. We will make our shopping excursion tomorrow. 

-----

_25 June 1900_

Such a strange report I have to make today. Alexandra and I did make our intended trip into the city, and she has a healthy supply now of well-made, comfortable garments, but that is hardly the most interesting thing which has come about. 

We returned to the ship in time for tea, and afterward, amused ourselves for some time in little Jonathan's nursery, where he engaged us in a very important activity involving some building blocks. He had just knocked over his tower for perhaps the fourth time, his laughter growing louder with each collapse, when Mina came into the room. 

"Elizabeth, Alexandra -- Nemo has asked everyone to come to the stateroom right away," she said, gathering the boy into her arms. "We've received some urgent communication from the government." Her face was placid, as usual, but there was a flicker of puzzlement in her pale eyes. 

My friend and I exchanged glances, and followed her at once to the stateroom, where the rest of the League had already assembled. No one seemed to know exactly what the matter was, including Nemo himself. 

"There has been a letter," he explained, "hand-delivered to the ship not half an hour ago. It comes as a surprise to me, for I do not know the gentleman in question and cannot imagine how it is that he knows of us. It seems, however, that our services are being requested by the English government." 

"Where have we heard that before?" asked Rodney. There was a general murmur of agreement and concern, for the last time the League members were contacted by a so-called government representative, the mission ended with Father's murder. 

"What does the letter say?" Henry inquired. 

Nemo unfolded the cream-coloured paper and read its contents aloud. 

_To the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, _

Word of your accomplishments and tragedies has reached the ears of Her Majesty's government. Your services are requested in a most singular crisis, for one of England's greatest and most loyal subjects is, at present, in need of aid. If you will consent to a private interview tomorrow, I will give you the particulars of the situation. Please call upon me in my offices, at the address given below, at half past one in the afternoon. 

Yours sincerely,  
M. Holmes, Esq. 

"The address is at an establishment in Pall Mall," Nemo added as he concluded the letter. 

"Well, there are a number of government offices in Pall Mall," I offered. "It sounds as if it is legitimate, on the surface at least. But M. Holmes...who on earth can that be?" 

"It sounds a bit familiar, but for the life of me I can't place it," Henry mused. "What are we going to do? Shall we investigate the matter?" 

"I don't like it," Rodney chimed in. "Could be another trap. Another trick." 

"But what if it's not?" asked Tom, who stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "It might be on the level this time. I think that in any case, we ought to go and find out." 

The debate ran on for a good twenty minutes or more, but at last we all came to the agreement that we shall, indeed, travel to Pall Mall tomorrow, and find out just who this M. Holmes character is and what he wants with us. I confess myself apprehensive, given what befell my father when last he answered a summons that was purported to be from Her Majesty's government -- and yet, as a loyal daughter of the empire, what else can I do? Besides, I shall be in the company of my friends, who are not so easily fooled as perhaps they once were, and they will be alert to any signs of treachery or danger. 


	6. Mr Mycroft Holmes

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: I most humbly beg pardon for the ridiculously long wait. 2006 was unkind to me in many respects, chiefly that of having robbed my of both of my mother's parents within six months of each other. I was very close to them, and particularly to my grandfather, who was one of my best friends. His death was a terrible shock, while my grandmother's came after a long illness, and I pretty much spent most of the year trying to come to terms with everything. I'm hoping 2007 will be kinder. All the grief, plus the stress of my job and other factors, more or less caused a lot of my muses -- most notably Elizabeth -- to go into hiding on me, and it's taken a long time and a lot of cookies to persuade her to come back out.

Congratulations are in order to Robin, who took first place in the EQ contest announced in the last chapter! Her comical mini-fic about the League traveling forward in time and being attacked by modern-day fangirls was the winning submission.

Once again, I thank you for your profound patience and kindness to me during a very long and hard year. Hopefully, now, I'm back on track and will have this mess sorted out for the readers before long!

-----

_26 June 1900_

The air of the breakfast table, from which I've only just come, was quite subdued. I think that, although we have agreed to see what this Holmes person wants, no one is entirely enthusiastic about the matter. There is much concern and wariness, which is only too understandable. I myself have several misgivings.

There are still some hours yet to fill before we are to make the drive into Pall Mall for the mysterious rendezvous, though Alex has promised to begin my piano lessons and thus occupy my attention for part of that time. It was decided, over the morning meal, that she will remain behind on the ship with little Jonathan. I also considered offering to refrain from attending the meeting, but never quite found an opportunity to voice the opinion. My companions all seem to feel that it is my right to be there, in my father's place, and I think in truth I am grateful for this rather than reluctant. To be the last Quatermain means, after all, shouldering a Quatermain's responsibilities, and I am prepared to do so to the best of my ability.

I really must wonder at this entire affair, however. The only Holmes of whom I am at all aware is the renowned consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. But his offices lie in Baker Street, not Pall Mall. Admittedly I have only read one or two of the stories published by his good friend Dr. Watson, but I do know that much. I also know that there was a great deal of public cheer when it was determined that the gentleman did not fall to his death upon the Reichenbach Fall, as poor Dr. Watson had surmised; I only wish that were the only part of the story the doctor had reported inaccurately. Truly, I should like sometime to meet Mr. Holmes, as we do have one James Moriarty as a common bond!

The question still remains before us. Who is this Holmes? The first initial given was _M_, which already raises a bit of unease among my friends; Moriarty was known by them as M before his true identity was determined. But it must be noted in fairness that this could be nothing more than coincidence.

No, there really is nothing else for it. To sit here and turn the matter over in my mind will accomplish nothing. All we can do is wait until we reach this office and find out, once and for all, exactly with whom we are dealing. I shall go and find Alex, and keep myself busy until we depart.

-----

_27 June 1900_

By all rights I should have written this report yesterday, but we spent a long time giving Alexandra all the details we could among us recall. I came back to my quarters after teatime, with every intention of describing the events to this diary, but I shortly found myself plagued by a terrible headache and spent most of the evening in bed, for not even my soothing lavender plants were much help in staving off the pain. I am quite refreshed this morning, however, and so I shall record as much as I can remember of what transpired yesterday.

In shortest form, the date of my wedding has been indefinitely postponed. But it is all in the name of a good cause.

At a few minutes before one in the afternoon, we arranged ourselves inside that horseless carriage of Nemo's and made our way to Pall Mall. We arrived at the prescribed address in good time for our meeting at half past, and a young secretary showed us up some stairs to an elegant office and sitting room. "Mr. Holmes will attend you in a moment," he said. "He's just returned from his luncheon meeting." He bade us make ourselves comfortable in the chairs, which were ranged in a semi-circle before a massive oak desk. I was surprised to note that whoever had placed the chairs thus had set out exactly six, which suggested that Mr. Holmes knew precisely how many of us to expect.

We had barely time enough to seat ourselves and draw a breath when the door opened again, and in came the unfamiliar Mr. Holmes. He is a very tall man, rather robust in appearance -- one might even, uncharitably, describe him as portly. His black hair was excessively tidy, and his face maintained a perpetually keen and intelligent expression throughout the interview.

"On behalf of Her Majesty's government," said he, "I do thank you for responding so promptly to my request for this meeting. Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Mycroft Holmes. I represent the empire in certain specialized situations, none of which are especially relevant at the moment." He glanced at each of us in turn. "Captain Nemo; Dr. Henry Jekyll; Mrs. Wilhelmina Jekyll, formerly Harker; Mr. Rodney Skinner; Special Agent Thomas Sawyer; and Miss Elizabeth Quatermain." He paused. "May I offer my condolences on the tragic passing of Mr. Allan Quatermain -- particularly to his daughter." I met his eyes, and the light in them was kindly. "Your father was a fine man. I only met him once, but I shall never forget it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Mr. Holmes," said Nemo, "if you are aware of Quatermain's death and the circumstances which prompted it, you should also be aware that we as a group have some concerns about being summoned on a government matter. We have been deceived once already."

"Professor Moriarty was a master of deception." The kindly light was gone from the grey eyes almost at once. "As I know only too well."

And suddenly, Henry's face took on an expression of abrupt realization, as a man will get when he realizes that the answer he's sought has been in front of his nose all along. "Of course!" he exclaimed, prompting us all to look at him curiously. His eyes were on Mr. Holmes. "Mycroft Holmes -- I recognize it now. _The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. _Your brother is the detective."

"Quite so." Mr. Holmes looked pleased that one of us had finally cottoned on. "Sherlock is my younger brother." The pleasure faded from his expression. "He is also the reason I have asked you all here."

We were quite riveted now, and paying him the very fullest attention as he sat down at his desk and began to speak at length. "Three months ago, my brother departed English soil to visit the German region of Bohemia, which is ruled by the gentleman whom he assisted in the matter of the Irene Adler affair. The King had written to Sherlock and requested his assistance with another personal matter, not for himself but for some obscure relation. Six weeks ago, I received a telegram from Sherlock assuring me that everything had been settled and he was making his way back to London. That was the last communication we have had from him."

"Your brother's missing?" Tom asked. I could see the consternation in his face, and I thought I understood it; Tom has a younger brother of his own, and while he and Sidney have never been precisely close, they are still brothers. Certainly I could imagine my own brother Harry being deeply troubled were some misfortune to have befallen me in his lifetime, despite our largely separate childhoods.

"Our best intelligence agents have been searching all along his intended route," Mr. Holmes replied heavily. "He seems to have simply vanished. I'm sure I need hardly point out that this is not the first time he has done so, but I do not believe that it is of his own volition this time. No, everything leads me to suspect something is sorely amiss."

"And...and you want us to go in search of him?" I ventured to inquire.

"That is my hope, yes. As I stated in my letter, word of your accomplishments has reached us. We are aware, for instance, that you assisted Dr. Howard Carter in his explorations of the tombs in Egypt last year. He has been a bit vague as to the exact nature of your help," he added, and it was with some difficulty that we all managed to suppress our smiles, "but he seems to feel that he owes you his life. I understand he fell ill during your acquaintance."

"He was nearly at death's door," observed Mina, truthfully.

"I am also led to understand that you thwarted a robbery attempt at the Executive Mansion in the United States earlier this year." Mr. Holmes had begun consulting some notes. "You undertook a mission to find the lost city of Machu Picchu, with mixed results...kept the location of King Solomon's mines from being revealed...found the means to reverse Mr. Skinner's invisibility...and of course halted the diabolical plots of Moriarty and kept the world from sinking into a destructive war. Surely you, with your myriad skills and unique talents, are better suited than anyone else to find my brother."

"We will need more information, of course," Nemo said. "His precise starting point in Germany, the route he intended to take, and anything else of which you may be aware that could have affected his return."

"Mr. Holmes," Mina said calmly, "are you quite certain your brother wants to be found? I am aware that during his last absence from the empire, he was presumed dead by his own efforts. Is there any possibility that it may be the same case this time?"

"No," said Mr. Holmes, "no. You see..." He steepled his fingers and fixed us all with a confiding sort of gaze. "During Sherlock's three-year period of absentia, I alone was privy to the fact that he was in fact alive. I did not know it immediately; initially, upon Dr. Watson's return from Switzerland, I believed with him that Sherlock had fallen to his death and I grieved. Shortly thereafter I received secretive communication, however. Sherlock and I long ago worked out a code by which we could send messages to one another, messages that would reveal nothing to anyone who intercepted them -- not even the identity of the sender or recipient. With a week of Dr. Watson's return, I received such a message, advising me to the fact that my brother lived and I was to share the knowledge with no one. It was necessary that Dr. Watson believe in the reality of his death, you see, or Moriarty's agents would have been hunting Sherlock all over Europe; they might even have taken his old friend or myself hostage to lure him out of hiding. Watson is a great keeper of secrets, but a terrible liar, and it would have been difficult for him to pretend to grieve, especially under the circumstances in which the two of them live." There was a faintly amused glint in his eyes at these words, which I failed to understand. "So we had to keep the poor doctor in the dark. The only reason Sherlock even allowed me to know he was alive was so that I could arrange to periodically wire funds to him, thus enabling him to live. I admit I felt a great compunction when Sherlock returned, and Watson learned that I had been aware of his safety all along." He shook his head. "Keeping that secret was the hardest thing I have ever had to do."

"Then perhaps this time, your brother elected not to burden you with that difficulty," Henry suggested.

"I do not believe that to be the case. Sherlock has..." Mr. Holmes paused, as though searching for exactly the right way to phrase his next remark without giving away more information than was necessary. "He has certain responsibilities, ties to England, which are not easily shirked. He had the same responsibilities in the last situation, it is true, but in that instance, his subterfuge was necessary to protect a particular set of lives. There is no known reason for him to attempt such a thing again; indeed, both Dr. Watson and I have his word that he would never do so, and Sherlock is not a man who goes back on his word. No, I genuinely believe that something has befallen my brother, and that he will not return to England without assistance."

Mr. Holmes rose from his desk, picking up another sheaf of papers. "I am, of course, prepared to reward the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen for its successful recovery of my brother. A full pardon for any and all past misdeeds of Captain Nemo, Mr. Skinner, and the Jekylls; I am aware that this is the reward offered by Professor Moriarty to gain your initial compliance, but I am actually in a position to grant it." He shifted the papers in his large hands, then set them down again. "Beyond that pardon, I am authorized to promise you a personal audience with Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Victoria herself. Her Majesty communicates that she intends to present you with her own reward for your compliance in this matter, though I am not privy to the knowledge of what that may be."

There was a silence. Then Nemo spoke again. "Would you be so good, Mr. Holmes, as to allow us five minutes' privacy? As with all decisions pertaining to the League as a whole, we must confer amongst ourselves."

"Of course. I shall return shortly." I was a little surprised that Mr. Holmes would so readily agree to leaving us alone in his own office, but he waddled (there really is no other word for his movement) through a door and closed it behind himself.

"Well, friends," said the captain when we were alone, "what is the general feeling?"

Rodney spoke for the first time since the interview had begun. "I'm game," he said. "That full pardon's lookin' mighty handy now that people can see me again. 'Sides, seems only fair to find old Sherlock an' let him know Moriarty's dead for real."

The others murmured their agreement. "Elizabeth," said Mina, "what say you? This will interfere rather strongly with your wedding plans in Scotland."

"Oh," said I, flustered, "I hadn't even thought of that. Well, it seems to me that Scotland isn't going anywhere...and Mr. Holmes -- the younger Mr. Holmes, I mean -- may be in genuine need of our assistance. I am entirely in favor of the mission."

Another moment passed, and Mr. Mycroft Holmes reappeared. The relief radiating from him when Nemo announced that we would go in search of his brother was very palpable. "Here," he said, handing Nemo a bundle of pages tied with string, "this is all the intelligence we have been able to gather about Sherlock's mission and last known whereabouts. Whatever other assistance I can provide, I will gladly do so. I would accompany you myself, but I am unable to leave my work."

"What about Dr. Watson?" I asked. "Would he care to join us on the search?" I rather hoped he might, for I was much interested to meet him.

Mr. Holmes, however, developed a very odd expression on his face at my question. It seemed to be somewhere between amusement, hesitation, and...fear. "No," he replied after a pause. "I am sure Watson would like to go with you, but there are too many reasons to say no." He relaxed his features, though to me it appeared something of a forced relaxation. "He is a married man, after all, and he has that to keep in mind. I will not pull him away from his family obligations." And that was, except for parting formalities, the end of our interview with Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

We shall depart in three days, but for Germany rather than Scotland, as previously planned. Nemo plans to telegraph Dr. Draper and one or two of their other acquaintances from my father's final mission, to see whether there is any information they might be able to offer as regards current weather conditions, traveling difficulties we might encounter, and whether there is anything we should know about the political climate. Not only will these facts allow us to avoid problems of our own, but they may provide a clue as to what befell Mr. Sherlock Holmes in his travels.

I confess myself troubled, however. There was more than Mr. Mycroft Holmes was telling us, especially about the reasons Dr. Watson could not go along. Perhaps it is nothing, but it seems very...odd.


	7. Paging Dr Watson

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: I'd be lying if I said I weren't tickled pink by all of the consternation over Dr. Watson in the last chapter. Why can't he go along? Can't the League even meet him? Is Mycroft up to something? Oh, I'd almost forgotten how much fun it is to make the readers wonder! I'll just clear up the deepest concerns for the moment; Watson is alive and well, and yes, you'll see him later. There's a very good reason for the way Mycroft is acting, but of course I can't tell you what it is! I think when the reasons for everything come to light, they may cause even more confusion, but I promise to explain everything in the FAQ, like I always try to do.

-----

_28 June 1900_

I have little preparation to make for this journey just yet, for the first leg will be conducted by water. I have spent some time, therefore, studying the region into which we will be passing, trying to make a few educated guesses about what might have befallen Mr. Sherlock Holmes on his return trip to England.

My first act was to look for and review the story Dr. Watson wrote which involved the King of Bohemia, to whose aid Mr. Holmes had so recently gone. Fortunately, Henry -- as was perhaps indicated by his recognition of Mr. Mycroft Holmes during our interview -- is something of an avid reader of the _Strand_ magazine in which most of them were printed, and he was able to direct me to the correct volume. The story in question is titled _A Scandal in Bohemia_, and Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had unsuccessfully attempted to recover some important documents from a Miss Irene Adler, later Mrs. Godfrey Norton, while in the employ of Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia. He was at that time engaged, and is now married, to Clothilde Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen, a Scandinavian princess, and it was of vital import that the papers and photograph be recovered before the public announcement of that betrothal. Although they could not recover the items, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson did at least manage to help the King avoid the scandal of which he was so dreadfully afraid.

Having identified at least one of the players in our current scene, I then turned my attention toward examining maps of the region, and documentation of the current political climate. After all, it is no exaggeration to say that Sherlock Holmes is one of the greatest subjects of the British Empire, and if someone wished to make use of a valuable hostage for some nefarious purpose, he would be an excellent candidate. I must admit that I have never paid greatest attention to the goings-on of central Europe, so I had much to learn. Mr. Mycroft Holmes' assertion that the King of Bohemia rules that region is somewhat inaccurate, and perhaps he merely phrased it that way out of habit or his distress over his brother. The fact is that the royal Bohemian title has been hereditary for several generations, and the region falls into the area now recognized as Austria-Hungary. Apparently there was an effort, in 1871, to split the rule into three parts instead of two, and rename the country Austria-Hungary-Bohemia, but the movement was defeated.

I immersed myself in the history of Bohemia for a good hour or two, noting as I did that King Wilhelm is (like all European royals, and many nobles) distantly related to Queen Victoria; he is descended from Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I. It was all interesting enough to read, though hardly worth rewriting in a personal journal. I have found little in the way of indication that there could be any sort of animosity toward England. Indeed, Germany -- the region's powerful northern neighbour -- is ruled by Kaiser Wilhelm II, the son of Her Majesty's eldest daughter Princess Victoria, and it seems unlikely that the residents of Bohemia would do something to antagonize the Queen under that circumstance. I am hardly the most educated woman in the world on matters political, but it is more probable, at least to my mind, that this was not a political move. 

I said as much to Rodney, who appeared at my door a few hours into my studies and joined me for a pot of tea. My eyes were demanding a respite by that point, so his arrival was even more welcome than usual. "Does any of this make sense to you?" I asked him.

"Precious little," he replied, stirring his tea thoughtfully. "I dunno, love. I see where you're goin' with this, but in the same breath you told me that there's been some discontent among the people about Bohemia not even bein' in the country's name. I agree, I don't think the King's much to do with any of it, but I can't help wonderin' if Holmes fell in with the wrong sorts who think he can somehow help their efforts."

"What good could he possibly do them?" I asked.

"Much as I don't want to think it...a martyr for the cause?"

"Oh, Rodney, how morbid."

"Such is the way of the world, Bessie. I hope I'm wrong."

"As do I. What about this other mystery, then -- why can't we meet with Dr. Watson?"

"That part makes as much sense as bugger all, beggin' your pardon. Tell you something else, love." His blue eyes twinkled conspiratorially. "I never met anybody what ever _saw_ the good doctor."

I was much surprised by this. "What do you mean?"

"He's a doc, right? Supposed to have patients an' all that. But I lived in London a long time, Bess, and I can tell you I don't know a single soul who ever went to anyone named Dr. Watson for medical aid."

"Are you suggesting...there's no such person?" That possibility had never crossed my mind. "How can that be?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, love. Maybe I'm wrong; maybe he only tends the upper crust or whatnot." Then he grinned. "But I know you love a good story, so there's one for you to think on."

My betrothed knows me well; I have thought on little else since he left.

-----

_29 June 1900 _

Continuing from yesterday; not long after Rodney and I parted company for a time, I went to Alexandra's room for my piano lesson. She really is the dearest girl I've ever known and I'm so fond of her. I have to admit to harbouring secret hope that she and Tom may develop feelings for one another; , as I have previously noted, I believe the attraction is already there. Indeed, as the coming narrative indicates, something appears to be blossoming between them even now, on Alex's side at least.

But quite apart from that, I was still turning our various mysteries over in my mind, and I thought it would be good to discuss them with a fresh ear. So once the music was finished for the afternoon, I brought up the subject.

"I can't help wishing you had come with us yesterday, Alex," I said thoughtfully, closing the lid over the keys. "There's so much about all of this that makes no sense."

Alexandra moved to a chair away from the piano, in a quiet corner. "Come sit and talk to me about it then; perhaps it will help make things clearer."

"Well, you know, of course," said I, changing seats, "everything we told you about our meeting. But some things simply do not add up. Why was Mr. Mycroft Holmes so firm about Dr. Watson not accompanying us? Surely it would do us no harm to at least meet the gentleman."

Alex pursed her lips. "I imagine he would be protecting the man somehow. After all, he and Holmes were partners for years, perhaps Dr. Watson has come ill? From the worry of it all -- I don't imagine that it would help things if the man were infirm -- or he has patients?" She idly fidgeted with her hair where it had come free from its pin.

"Well, yes, his health or his patients could certainly account for at least part of the reason," I conceded. "But...I don't know. I wish you could have seen his face. There was something he was not telling us."

"Could you be looking for more? Certainly, after being with the League for so long, I imagine you'd be in the habit of thinking of more details than usual."

"Hm. Perhaps that's all it is...I may be hunting for clues where there are none. As Freud says, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

Alexandra snorted. "It would be normal to look for clues -- imagine, we're working around the amazing Holmes. But don't discount your wonderings. There could very well be something more here. I imagine, though, that the elder Mr. Holmes is protecting Dr. Watson with all he has now; his brother's disappearance would be devastating to them both, and the good doctor was his best friend, it would certainly seem."

"Yes, you're certainly right about that. But that's a whole other concern, the actual missions. I spent much of the earlier part of the day researching," I said. "I was trying to get some idea of the political climate where we'll be going, and there is a faction who wants to restore Bohemian rule to the country proper. There are many potential scenarios which may have befallen Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and several of them are unpleasant to ponder."

Her eyes widened a fraction. "I can imagine. I imagine that it would be more helpful if we knew why he'd gone there in the first place."

"Only the King can tell us that, I fear...Nemo intends to seek an audience with him. We have a letter of introduction from Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

"Do you think I will be allowed to come along?" Alex looked hopeful.

"I cannot fathom a reason why you should not. Though now I wonder what will be done with Jonathan," I mused. "Bohemia is so very landlocked that much of our journey will be overland, rather than on the _Nautilus_. Will Mina and Henry bring him, or will they leave him aboard?"

"He will certainly not lack for entertainment; the crew think he's wonderful. No harm could ever hope to befall him should they decide to leave him here."

"It might be the safest thing for him...and yet at the same time I imagine his parents will be terribly reluctant to part with him." I had to smile, for I am rather reluctant to part with him myself. "Amazing the difference a child makes aboard the ship."

"Tom says that your arrival brought about a change, and that the child's arrival was even more shocking. He said he was no longer going to be surprised at what Nemo could accomodate. I imagine a small village could be housed on this vessel."

"I don't doubt it." At this I could not help being privately amused. "And what tales has my 'big brother' been telling out of school?"

"That you like pink roses, and that your courtship with Skinner frustrated the crew because of the betting pool they'd made on your successful pairing." Alexandra giggled softly. "He's very pleased that you both woke up to it, though; he thinks you're very good for Uncle Rodney, and I think he also thinks Uncle Rodney is good for you. Which I can certainly imagine to be true myself."

"I'm hardly in a position to argue the point." I laughed. "I adore Tom, but I see he was too modest to admit that he had bits and pieces to do with our 'successful pairing.' Your uncle leaned on him quite a bit, I'm thrilled that he's to be the best man."

"Is he still amenable to it? Has Uncle Rodney joked to him yet that he's going to wear a kilt? Uncle is so proud of his Scotch heritage."

"Oh, I don't think you understand! That's not a joke!" I nearly choked on my own laughter. "Your uncle really wants them to wear kilts."

Blushing, Alex laughed as well. "Oh goodness, I am a goose. I thought you were simply putting _me _in the tartan colours, I didn't realize Uncle Rodney was going the whole way!" She shook her head. "So does Tom know he's wearing a kilt?"

"I...don't know, actually. That's a good question; remind me to ask Rodney if they've discussed it."

"I imagine they haven't, or Tom would've mentioned it, I'm quite sure. Uncle Rodney might want to tell him... and soon."

"Well, we don't really know when the wedding will take place now, because of the mission." Here I sobered. "So perhaps there's no real rush. I do hope Tom won't object; I daresay Henry won't, and I don't believe Rodney intends to ask Nemo to wear one."

Alexandra gave a peal of laughter. "Oh dear. I shouldn't laugh, but... Nemo. In a kilt. Oh dear.:"

My mouth twitched, but I soon gave up fighting the giggle. "It is rather...hard to imagine."

Trying to stop laughing simply made it harder. "The turban wouldn't match..." With an effort, she calmed herself. "Oh I shouldn't laugh, he's such a pleasant man, and I'm sure he'd be just as amused at the thought."

"Perhaps we could get him a tartan turban." I promptly lost my composure once again; we were both nearly weeping with laughter.

Alex nearly fell out of her chair. "Oh...oh dear." She searched her skirt pocket. "Oh, I haven't my handkerchief...bother." She wiped her eyes with her hands.

"Be sure to tell Tom about this. He'll love it."

"I'm not sure where he is, I was looking for him -- or rather, I didn't see him." Alexandra gave her eyes one last brush. "I rather think Uncle Rodney will enjoy it too."

"I'm sure he will. Most likely they're off together somewhere, they are great cronies." I delicately refrained from asking why Alex was looking for Tom.

She nodded, settling back into her chair. "When do we see Mr. Holmes again? Perhaps a simple inquiry into Dr. Watson's health will tell us more?"

"I am not entirely certain if we do. The way the interview ended, I got the distinct impression that we were not to return until we had something to report."

Alex tapped her finger on her cheek for a moment; the gesture reminded me faintly of Tom, and his habit of tracing the letter V on his chin when he thinks. Then she looked up again. "Would it be too forward of us to simply go to see Dr. Watson? To give our regards?"

"I've no idea where he lives," I replied truthfully. "Mr. Holmes reminded us that the doctor is married, and so I should hardly think he still resides in Baker Street."

She considered this for a moment. "If you were living with your best friend for years, and then he disappeared, would you not be at his abode as much as you could? Waiting for news, or the return of the person himself -- or even just to take comfort in the familiar surroundings?"

"Possibly..." I gave her a thoughtful look. "Do you really suppose this would be a good idea?"

"I don't pretend to think anything I do is a good idea at first -- maybe we could ask Nemo or Tom, since I imagine we'll not be permitted to go alone."

"Tom," I decided at once. My almost-brother would never have forgiven me for leaving him out of a plan like this.

"Well, unless you want to go and start working on your scales, I think we're at a free point. We've some hours yet before dinner, and Baker Street is not too far off. I wonder where we might find Tom."

"Did I hear my name?" A familiar blond head poked into the room through the partially open door.

Alexandra looked up. "That entirely depends on whether you're willing to admit you were listening to our conversation." Her mouth curved into a smile.

I made no effort to conceal my own amusement. "Just who we needed. Tom, do come in, please."

He ambled over and took an empty seat. "What mischief are the ladies of the manor devising this time?"

Alexandra told him of her idea. "Either it's not a bad idea, or Elizabeth is too sweet to tell me I'm being terribly uncouth again."

Tom looked thoughtful. "I can't see why it would be a bad idea. I mean...we're just being polite, right?"

Alexandra nodded. "And sneaky. But in a polite way."

"I am all about sneaky." He gave Alex an approving grin. "Shall we, _mademoiselles_?"

"I think we should. Am I presentable, Auntie dear?" Alex's eyes gleamed mischieviously.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?"

"I think it would be something like... don't?" She grinned.

"Something like that, yes."

She gave a solemn nod. "I shall remember that. Must respect my relations, after all."

"See that you do remember." I kept her face neutral, though I suspect my eyes were twinkling.

Tom laughed. "You two need to take this outside?"

"I am not wearing my play clothes." Alex's eyes twinkled as well. "You failed to answer -- am I presentable for the outside, Elizabeth? Especially given where we'd be going..."

"You look fine, dear. Besides, we're sort of undercover, aren't we, Tom?"

"You could say that, yes."

"Undercover. How exciting." Alex gave a small hop in her seat. "Shall we go, then?"

Go we did, having first alerted Nemo to our...very vague intentions. I do not mean to say that we outright lied to the dear Captain; my conscience could never have borne it. But we were not entirely forthcoming in our explanation of what we meant to do. All we told him was that the three of us had decided to take a walk while the luxury was still available, which was truthful enough, and that we anticipated returning well in time for dinner, which was likewise accurate.

Baker Street is not unspeakably far from the London docks, but it is quite a distance nonetheless, particularly on foot. After several city blocks, we gave up the walk, and hailed a passing hansom to convey us to our destination. It was scarcely difficult to locate the 221 building, and with great eagerness we rang the bell.

A plump, matronly woman responded to our summons; this, I thought, must surely be Mrs. Hudson, the long-suffering landlady of Sherlock Holmes. "May I help you?"

"Thank you, yes," said Tom, assuming the role of spokesman. "We were wondering if we might have a word with Dr. John Watson."

A shadow of something passed over her eyes, or so I thought; it cleared in a twinkling, however, and perhaps I merely imagined it. "Dr. Watson doesn't live here anymore," she said politely, but firmly. "After his marriage he relocated to the Paddington district."

"Might we trouble you for his address, madam?" I ventured to inquire.

"I'm sorry, but at present I'm under orders not to give it to anyone. Good day to you." She closed the door. We stood on the front stoop in some confusion, looking at each other.

"Well, that could have gone better," said Alex, as we turned and descended the steps again. "Dear me. It seems everyone wants to deny us our audience with Dr. Watson."

"Oi," said a new voice. We turned and spotted a young man of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, regarding us keenly. He looked, in all honesty, not so unlike a younger version of Tom, with a mop of blond hair hanging over his eyes. "An' what might you want with the doctor, then?" he asked.

"That entirely depends," said Tom, smiling almost incredulously at his young doppelganger, "on why you'd want to know."

The lad shrugged. "Known the gov'nor and the doctor a long time. I make it my bus'ness to find out why someone's inquirin' about them."

I have, as I've mentioned, read only a few of the good doctor's stories about his remarkable friend, but at this moment something from one of them clicked in my mind. "Are you Wiggins?" I asked. "The leader of Mr. Holmes' 'Baker Street Irregulars'?"

He favored me with a jaunty little grin. "Aye. Guess I'm a bit more famous than I realize."

"We mean the doctor no ill will," said I. "We only wished to inquire after him. We are..." I paused. "We are aware that all is not well in Baker Street just at present, and we have some designs on correcting that."

"We were thinking," Tom said, picking up my thread, "that maybe Dr. Watson could give us a few clues to work with. We've come by way of Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

"Oho," said Wiggins, adopting a much more serious expression, "so that's it, then? You're workin' for the gov'nor's brother? Well, all I can say as to that is you're barkin' up the wrong tree. The doctor don't know more'n Mr. Mycroft does about any of it, an' that's a fact."

"How do you know?" Alex blurted.

"Like I said," he replied, "I make it my bus'ness to know. It's part of me job, you understand, to look after the doctor when the gov'nor's away."

"You're protecting him," said I, nodding. "That's well. And I'm sure Mr. Holmes will be grateful to you for that."

He regarded me keenly for a moment; then another little grin broke over his features. "You remind me o' the Princess," he said cryptically. "I've got work to do, must be off. But good luck! Find the gov', and bring him home safe -- for all of us." With no more goodbye than this, the street youth had vanished.

I looked at Alex and then at Tom, whose faces mirrored the perplexity which must have shown in my own. "I remind him of _whom_?"

"I don't know," said Tom, frowning. "It seems like the farther into this we get, the darker it becomes."

"Well," said Alex, philosophically, "then I think we must go all the way through. There must be some light on the far side."


	8. Royal Ambassadors

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Now...summer is upon me and my duties elsewhere have finally slackened off sufficiently that I can WRITE THIS. Let's just see how many chapters I can bang out while I'm hot! On to Bohemia -- and thank you again for your patience.

-----

_30 June 1900_

The Sword of the Ocean left the docks of London this morning, as planned. Nemo has deemed it will be most expedient to follow the Channel up into the North Sea, around the northeastern edges of mainland Europe; we will enter the mainland through Hanover, which is ruled by one of Queen Victoria's relations through her elder half-brother Charles, in the region known as Bremen. It is not a great distance by an ordinary ship, and the _Nautilus_ will make it shorter still. He estimates that we should reach the shores of Bremen sometime tomorrow evening. From there the expedition will move south and west past Brandenburg and Westphalia; the Weser River will carry the submersible down into Thuringia, where it is renamed the Werra, and from there we will travel overland into Bohemia proper. The King and Queen, as reported in some of the documents which Nemo received from Mr. Mycroft Holmes, have a small summer palace in the northern reaches of the realm, and this is where they can be found at the present time. They have been, according to Mr. Holmes, alerted to our imminent arrival and we may expect a cordial reception.

Little Jonathan will remain aboard the vessel, and there has been some discussion about who shall have charge of him in Henry and Mina's absence. It seems this will now be at the forefront of all of our planning as regarding our missions and expeditions, for we have heretofore never had anyone younger than myself to occupy our attention. Even Nemo has expressed concern over leaving the child in the care of his men; while they are good-hearted and true, and we should have no fears for Jonathan's safety as regards anyone attempting to bring harm to the boy, he says that few if any have any experience in the care of a small child, and they have enough of their own tasks to oversee without the added duty of watching him.

As it stands, we have sufficient work to occupy ourselves for at least part of the journey. Our trunks must be packed and ourselves ready to depart the ship at the moment we dock. The horse-drawn carriages Nemo had purchased for our trip to Scotland have been brought along, and once in Thuringia we will arrange to purchase some horses. With the curtains drawn we should be able to make our way through the country without attracting much attention, and to aid us in this we carry official documents, including a letter from King Wilhelm of Bohemia, identifying us as ambassadors of the English Queen.

-----

_2 July 1900 _

We reached the shores of Hanover last night, as anticipated, though we did not surface for some time; there was a rather nasty storm in the area and it seemed wiser to remain below the water. Over dinner we continued our discussion of what is to be done with Jonathan, and I was much surprised by the decision.

"I mean to stay here," Mina informed us, "and look after him myself. I can't think you'll be in particular need of my talents on this portion of the adventure, whereas Jonathan will most certainly need me." A glance at Henry told us that he had been forewarned of his wife's intentions, and while it could hardly be said that he seemed pleased at the notion of leaving her behind, he did appear to agree that it was for the best. I am inclined to agree, though I daresay I shall miss Mina. For someone who initially impressed me as cold, forbidding, and not altogether kindly, she has secured a definite place in my affections.

We anticipate that it should take only perhaps two or three days more to journey downriver into Thuringia. Until we reach the river's end, our time aboard the ship will afford us the usual amusements. I must admit that when we are away from the _Nautilus_, I am like Nemo in one respect at least; I pine for her too, in my own way.

-----

_5 July 1900_

The carriages, I have just been informed, are standing ready and a pair of strong chestnuts have been purchased to pull each of them. The first shall carry Nemo and Henry, and most of our crewman escort; the second is for myself, Rodney, Tom, and Alexandra. Thank goodness there will be conversation to keep us entertained, and I daresay there is always the option of a card game or two. I am not prone to gambling, but a few hands of whist is never unacceptable for a lady. I am given to understand that Henry, amusingly, has procured a copy of _A Study in Scarlet_, Dr. Watson's first story of the exploits of the famous detective, and plans to read it aloud during the journey in order to keep Nemo and the men from growing too restless.

I must return this diary to my trunk and make ready to depart. I am uncertain as to when I shall next be able to write, but I think we will be spending nights in proper establishments, so there should be opportunities at least at the end of each day.

-----

_9 July 1900_

Well, it was my intention to write in the evenings of the journey, but truthfully, there has been little to report. Our passage is going well, as the weather has been of a thoroughly congenial sort, and the German countryside is very beautiful. There are so many mountains! And everything is so very green!

We are presently in the kingdom of Saxony, which is the immediate northern neighbor of Bohemia. Another three days of travel, Nemo says, should bring us to His Majesty's doorstep. I suspect Alex is in a nervous state about making an actual appearance at court; she has never done so. Of course I myself have only been at court once, for my formal presentation, but I recently learned that Alex never did have a debutante season.

"Mother didn't find it entirely...necessary," she said, in response to my gentle inquiry. "So I've never even seen a member of the royal family, except in parades and that sort of thing."

To be fair, I think we are all more than a little anxious about meeting the King, with the probable exception of Nemo who is, after all, a prince in his own right. Then again, Tom does not seem altogether ruffled by the notion either. I have been teasing him, delicately, that Americans are afraid of nothing; really, it is simply that they have no royalty of their own, and do not bend the knee to any other crowned head. Besides, Tom is a direct subordinate to the President of the United States, so he is rather accustomed to interacting with important personages.

Communication has been somewhat difficult, as none of us speak much German; ironically, Mina -- the one member of the League who is not here -- does understand a good deal of the language, thanks to her prior association with Professor Van Helsing. We know that the King and Queen speak very good English, if heavily accented, but the same cannot be said for all of their countrymen. With what reliable interpreters we have been able to meet, however, we have made some discreet inquiries about Mr. Sherlock Holmes. If what we are told is to be believed, no one matching his description has been seen in Thuringia. It may be so; according to what his brother told us about his planned itinerary, the younger Holmes meant to go directly west from Bohemia, then north through Belgium to the Netherlands, and board his ship back to England at Amsterdam. The question is, then, at what point in the journey did he divert from his intended path? And why?


	9. Bohemian Rhapsody

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: As usual, thanks are owed to my beloved best friend for her assistance with Alexandra's dialogue. Out of gratitude for all of her help, and because some of the "behind the scenes" things we've devised together are simply too good to be erased, I have a happy little announcement to make. Many of you wrote to say how much you enjoyed the Skinner version of volume IV; some of you even admitted you liked it better than Elizabeth's diary of the events. So I'm pleased to inform you that after volume V is finished (and "Allan Observes" is brought up to speed), there will be an Alex version of volume V! You'll get all the inside scoop on her personal history, how her first meeting with Uncle Rodney really went, her contributions to the wedding preparations, and so much more. First, though, we have to finish the real diary, so onward.

-----

_12 July 1900_

Alex is really quite beside herself, and I can hardly say I blame her. I write this entry from King Wilhelm's summer palace, in Prague, where we have been given an utterly sumptuous suite of rooms to share. We will only be remaining for the better part of two days, but after sleeping in this or that wayside inn, the feather mattresses and silken coverlets feel even more luxurious than they normally might. 

We have not yet seen Their Majesties, but the head of the household bade us a very friendly welcome and escorted us to these rooms to refresh ourselves. Nemo and Henry are just across the hall, and Tom and Rodney a little further down. They each have their own bedroom, but from what we have been told, Queen Clothilde apparently felt that Alex and I would be more comfortable staying together. I daresay she was quite correct, and I must remember to thank her for the courtesy.

We will be joining the King and Queen for dinner in a little while, and Alex has been rather agitated. I've had to ask her to stop pacing. "You look like a cat in a cage."

"I don't feel like a cat, I feel like a mouse. A cornered one."

"Are you concerned about what to wear? Let me see which dresses you're contemplating."

"Well, I have that new green dress that Uncle Rodney gave me as a gift -- I think he must have smuggled Mina off the ship to buy it. I think that it would be formal enough if I added some lace. Or I have the blue one that you bought me before we left...I didn't bring anything else. I don't really _have _anything else."

"Show me the green one; the blue is flattering, but you have little flecks of green in your eyes and that makes me think the green dress might be more becoming," I said thoughtfully. She produced from her trunk a rather fine dress of a deep sage green muslin, which I thought was just the thing.

"But is it up to the standard?" Alexandra fidgeted with her hair. "I suppose we're in a different place so fashion is not going to be an issue, I just have never dreamed of meeting royalty."

"Well, if all goes as we hope, Mr. Mycroft Holmes guaranteed us an audience with Queen Victoria," I reminded her. "Let me see...some lace on the cuffs and collar would improve it, as you said, and I think I have some gold ribbon we could add to the hem of the skirt. It is a pretty dress on its own, really, and it should take little enough effort to whipstitch the trimmings into place."

"Well, that's solved at least. My stomach is roiling with nerves!"

I found the ribbon in my trunk; to be perfectly truthful, I've forgotten what my original purpose was in packing it. Perhaps it was already in the trunk and I simply forgot to remove it. No matter, as it came in handy, and I always carry thread and needle with me when traveling away from the ship in case I rip a seam or something equally clumsy. I sought to put her at ease, so while I started to trim her gown I chattered at her. "Such fine rooms His Majesty has provided for us -- and they call this the small summer palace? I think it must be as large as Frogmore, from what I have read of the place."

"Frogmore -- that's the one where the Prince Consort is buried?"

"That's the one. Well, Alex dear, your supper gown should be ready before too long, but you still look uneasy."

"I won't be put to death if I use the wrong fork, will I?"

"I should think it unlikely." I could not help but chuckle. "If I had realized sooner that we would be attending a royal dinner, I would have spent more time with you on the subject. I _am _sorry, I didn't think."

"Oh don't be silly. I don't want you to feel like my chaperone or teacher all the time." A maid arrived to bring us some tea, and Alexandra knew enough German to thank her properly in the native tongue, which I think must have made her feel at least a little more sure of herself. She poured two cups and sat, holding her teacup without the saucer to warm her nervous fingers. "Is there anything particular, or may I just stare at you to make sure I do things correctly?"

"Of course you may look to me for guidance. But I am as much a stranger in this land as you -- it may be that I won't do things correctly either. We can but muddle through as best we are able, I'm afraid."

"Its the muddling I'm most concerned about." Alex sipped her tea. "Men aren't expected to be perfect, I'd wager Tom is unconcerned -- and dear Uncle Rodney doesn't seem to ever care what anyone thinks of him."

"Almost accurate. He's frightfully concerned about _your _opinion," I corrected her. I like to think he's also concerned about mine, but by this time he surely must know how I feel about him.

"My opinion of everyone in the League is very high. Particularly you and Uncle Rodney." She started to say something else, then stopped, and sipped her tea. "Will there be many courses, do you think? I hope there won't be soup."

I did not fail to notice the start of another remark, but elected not to comment. "From what I know of the Germans, I think soup is unfortunately inevitable," I said. "I'm sure you'll be fine, though; you've been practicing, I have noticed."

"Maybe it will be pea soup, and match the dress."

-----

_  
13 July 1900_

King Wilhelm of Bohemia is much as Dr. Watson described him, barrel-chested and exceedingly tall, with a deep and rumbling voice. He and his soft-spoken, fair-skinned Queen made us most welcome at their royal table last night, plying us with the exceedingly rich foods the Germans so favor. I was seated beside Rodney, with Alex on his other side, and Tom, Nemo and Henry sat opposite. Poor Alex was frightfully nervous, but sitting beside her bluff, good-natured uncle was perhaps the best balm to her frayed nerves, for while Nemo and the King spoke of this or that, and the Queen favored me with a little conversation, Rodney kept saying things to make Alex smile into her napkin. She was too amused by him to be very anxious for long.

This was, I feel compelled to note, only the second time I have seen Rodney particularly well-dressed, and only the first time since his visibility was restored. He wore a black suit this time, rather than the green one he wore to the St. Petersburg ball, and it contrasted handsomely with his milky skin and vivid hair. He nudged me at one moment, when the Queen was occupied with cutting her beef, and whispered, "Pickin' up some of this German."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." I could hear the smile. "_Sie schauen schön._"

I had no opportunity then to find out what this meant, for at that point the King elected to discuss our actual business in Bohemia. "I am much distressed by the disappearance of Mr. Holmes," he said in English, the words sounding somewhat halting in his thick, heavy accent. "He came here as a personal favor to me. I have a cousin, a baron, whose personal honour was endangered by an unscrupulous servant. Mr. Holmes was able to clear his name without great difficulty. I am indebted to him on behalf of my entire family, and will do anything I might to assist you in his recovery."

"What do you know of the path he took when he left you?" asked Nemo. "His brother tells us he intended to travel due west, through Bavaria."

"To the best of my knowledge, this was so. I offered him a proper escort, at least to the borders of Bohemia, but he refused."

"And you accepted his refusal?" Henry sounded just slightly incredulous. 

"You do not know Mr. Holmes yet, I daresay, but he is somewhat masterful in his ways. To have insisted that he accept the company of my guards would have been unthinkable. His international standing is like perhaps no one else's in the world." The King shrugged slightly. "In hindsight, of course, that may have been a mistake in judgment, but I was only trying to respect his autonomy."

"What course of action would Your Majesty suggest we take from here?" I ventured.

"You are intrepid adventurers. I have heard much of you from Mr. Mycroft Holmes." He favored us with a smile. "I can offer perhaps one clue. Before he returned to your England, Mr. Holmes expressed much interest in King Ludwig's masterpiece at Hohenschwangau. I am of course speaking of the palace Neuschwanstein. Although I have communicated with the Duke of Bavaria and a search has been conducted of the vicinity, no man matching the detective's description has been located. Nevertheless, it may serve as a starting point for your investigations." This was useful news, and we took it to heart. Soon after, the conversation moved on to more relaxing topics, and after dinner we were encouraged to relax and enjoy the royal hospitality.

This morning, Alex and I were invited to accompany Queen Clothilde to hear services in her private chapel. The Queen is an extremely pious individual and hears worship services at least twice every day, three times on Sundays. Neither Alex nor I understood a word of the service, which was performed not in German as we had expected, but in Swedish; Queen Clothilde was, after all, a Scandinavian princess before her marriage, and although she has adopted the language and customs of her new country, she prefers to worship in her native tongue.

As pleasant as it has been to simply bask in all of this magnificence, we are preparing to make our departure first thing tomorrow morning. However, while I had the opportunity, I made sure to find out what it was that Rodney said to me last night at dinner. Lovable rogue. According to Her Majesty, _Sie schauen schön _means, in English, "You look beautiful."

-----

_15 July 1900_

We took our leave of Their Majesties, thanking them for their many courtesies. Like Mr. Holmes, we too elected to refuse the escort of a royal guard, but King Wilhelm satisfied himself by providing us with fresh documentation as to our purpose in the German realms. At present we have stopped for the noon meal, in a quiet little tavern that, to judge by the delighted expression of the proprietor at our arrival, does not see much business, at least during the daylight hours.

We are traveling due west, along the 50th parallel, into Upper Franconia in Bavaria. Nemo marks our course; when we reach the point where we cross the 12th line of longitude, we will alter our course and move south. Hohenschwangau lies in the southwestern region of Bavaria, past Munich, and travel will be difficult; there are so many mountains and treacherous hiking paths. It's difficult to understand why King Ludwig chose to construct his fairy tale palace in the middle of mountainous nowhere.

-----

_17 July 1900_

I could not help but ask Nemo, when we prepared to begin the day's travels this morning, why we were continuing to go by horse-drawn carriage instead of making use of the rail system. After all, it seems to me that journeying by train would be more expedient. 

"Well you may ask, Elizabeth," he told me, setting down his cup. "I have considered the matter more than once, particularly in view of the fact that it would almost certainly be more comfortable for everyone. And admittedly, what we know of the detective's intended route suggests that he meant to travel by rail himself."

"But?"

"But if we traveled by rail, we would be stopping far less often than we are now. That would give us fewer opportunities to inquire with locals about whether they have seen anyone matching the description of Mr. Holmes."

"I hadn't thought of that, I suppose," I admitted. "Have we had any luck with those inquiries?"

"Not as yet; but surely someone must have seen him. The man could not have vanished into thin air, could he?"

I have to wonder, though. After all...didn't he do exactly that for three whole years?

-----

_18 July 1900_

Today I learned something about my dear Rodney that I did not know.

We stopped to rest, not at an inn (as has become our custom), but simply to take a refreshing pause by one of the little streams that course through the German countryside. The weather was very fine and we were all most desirous of the chance to stretch our legs. Alex proposed, and I consented at once, that we might walk along the shoreline of the stream a little way. The crew members who were accompanying us were checking the horses and allowing them to graze on the sweet grass that grows near the water; Nemo was checking our progress against his maps, Tom looking over his shoulder; and Henry and Rodney were discussing the quality of the stream water, and whether it would suffice to replenish our supply. So we saw no harm in linking arms and strolling up and down the edge of the water. We did not intend to go very far; indeed, we had no intention of even leaving sight of the carriages.

However, once we had walked some twenty or so paces, we were appalled and frightened by the abrupt appearance of a small group of bandits. Much like Robin Hood and his merry men, these ruffians apparently bide their time among the bushes, waiting to surprise unwary passers-by and rob them of their valuables; I very much doubt, however, that their intentions were anywhere near as honourable as those of Robin Hood. They made their demands in German, so exactly what they were asking for was not clear to anyone in our party, but two of them held Alex and myself in a very firm grip. Our gentlemen companions were being given little choice but to comply with the demands, whatever they were. Worse, our immediate captors were urging us to move backward, with an obvious wish to get us into the obscurity of the treeline. What might have happened to us then, I shudder to think.

Suddenly, one of the men shouted and fell to his knees. He glanced back at a second bandit, who had been standing close behind, and started yelling at him in German; he seemed to be accusing the other man of knocking him down. Before the accused could properly respond, he too was sent sprawling. Then there was a sickening crack, and Alex and I found ourselves unexpectedly released; the two men who had been holding us had, much to everyone's surprise, had their heads knocked together. I took no time to consider the meaning, but grabbed Alex by the hand, and we ran back to the safety of our companions' protection. The bandits -- those who retained consciousness, I should say -- looked deeply afraid, as though the place had suddenly become haunted, and they went charging back into the trees. One of them was considerate enough to think to drag along the unconscious body of the fourth.

We were, ourselves, rather unnerved by the experience, and perhaps no more so than after the villains had fled, and a very merry laugh rent the air. "That was priceless," declared a familiar voice, and I, if no one else, stared in the general direction from which it had come.

"R-Rodney?"

"Henry, fetch me one o' the vials, there's a good fellow." 

"Oh, yes, of course." As we watched, Henry retrieved from one of the carriages a small hinged box with a handle, similar to the sort of box I have seen used to transport a photographer's camera. He opened it to reveal glass vials containing liquids; one kind was clear, the other a deep red. He took one of the vials of red serum out of the box, closed it up again, and moved uncertainly toward the direction of the voice. "Where, er, where are you?"

"Here." The vial was taken from Henry by an unseen hand; the cork stopper was removed and the liquid was seen coursing down an invisible throat. For the first time, I myself witnessed the singular process by which Rodney went from being 'Invisible Man the Second' to a perfectly ordinary Cockney gentleman. It was very much as Tom had described it; the body seemed to grow from the inside out, a delicate network of veins weaving themselves over a skeleton, organs and skin and hair and eyes all gradually coming into view. I know my eyes were very wide. Beside me, Alex gave a sudden gasp, and we both whipped around before we could see anything that we had no business seeing.

"Oh, blimey, I forgot! Sorry, ladies! Tom, lad, get me clothes, would you? They're on the ground, on the other side o' the carriages."

That was horrifically embarrassing. He's had some difficulty looking either of us in the eye since the incident.


	10. Mad King Ludwig

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: What did I say in chapter eight about duties slacking off? Oi. Well, I still hope to finish this volume by the end of Labor Day weekend; the Alexandra version of events and the final updates to _Allan Observes_ will be done by Halloween at the absolute latest. Lord, has this been a wacky ride!

A few people have been asking me what will happen to the League after volume V is complete. I'm so glad you have. Once I finish posting the end of this volume, my dear friend Shining Phoenix will begin posting chapters of her story _Brink_, about the 21st century League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. _Brink_ is the direct successor to _The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain_ and will answer many questions you might have regarding the future of Elizabeth, Skinner, and any progeny. She's done me a great honor not only in joining forces with me in this shared universe, but by holding back from posting her stories to FFN until volume V is done, so as to avoid giving any spoilers. I've been reading her work as she produces it; it comes with my personal endorsement and highest recommendation. The quality of her writing is superb.

As part of keeping things straight in our joint storyverse, we are working together to construct a wiki that will tell all about them! You'll find information in the wiki that you wouldn't get from the stories, plus lots of other goodies. The link will be made available when everything is ready.

-----

_22 July 1900_

Poor Rodney! He's still very distressed about the recent gaffe following the attempt by the German ruffians. I suppose after so many years of being able to forgo clothing, it must be at least a touch difficult to readjust to having to be dressed at all times. I wish he wouldn't be so embarrassed, however, as Alex and I were able to successfully avert our eyes before we saw overmuch. In any case, sometime this year I shall be his wife and the matter will be entirely irrelevant.

I must admit I am tempted to report on this to Mina when we return to the ship, however. I think it will genuinely amuse her.

In more important matters, we spent yesterday and the day before it exploring Neuschwanstein. What a marvel that is! I have seen my share of castles, to be sure, but I cannot imagine that there has ever been anything like this castle in the world. King Ludwig II -- "mad King Ludwig," they call him -- ordered its construction out of his own love of castles and fairy tale kingdoms, and it does indeed look like something from a child's fantasy. One can hardly blame Mr. Holmes from taking a detour from his planned itinerary in order to see it for himself.

I have learned a great many things during our explorations, though little of any use to our purpose. The foundation stone was laid in place on 5 September 1869, and I could not help but smile to think that had they waited one more day, the castle and I would share the same birthday. Sadly, King Ludwig died a mere two years after he began living at the castle, and at the time of his death he was being kept in what amounted to a sanitarium. During his lifetime it was known as New Hohenschwangau Castle, and only became Neuschwanstein after his passing. It is so big that we could not hope to cover the entire construction in one day, even if we all separated and took different sections, but we saw many of the most beautiful rooms, including the Singers' Hall, the magnificent Throne Room, and the Conservatory. Everything is painted and shining and glorious, like a fairy tale king's castle truly should be. Even ordinary rooms, like the kitchen and the servants' quarters, are palatial in design and scope. Many of the walls are painted with scenes and characters from the works of the composer Richard Wagner, who had been King Ludwig's idol; he seems to have had a particular fascination with _Der Niebelungen._ Another object of the King's apparent interest are the stories of King Arthur and his knights, particularly the quest for the Holy Grail, and there are many images and depictions related to these legends throughout the castle as well.

I was rather intrigued by a particular spiral staircase, which none but the King was permitted to use. It winds into the Upper Hall and ends at an entrance to the Singers' Hall, which is guarded by a dragon statue, and at the center of the staircase is a column which, at its top, turns into a palm tree. The coved ceiling above the palms is painted to resemble a starry sky. However, I think my favorite aspect of the castle is the care which the King and his builders took to disrupt the landscape as little as possible; it is surrounded by rock and tree, and the closer one gets, the more apparent it is that there was great effort to preserve the natural beauty of the building site. The view is particularly splendid from the _Marienbrücke _(Marie's Bridge), which spans the _Pollät Gorge_.

We also beheld a portrait of King Ludwig. He has, in this picture, a young face with a rather ethereal expression; he seems very dreamy, as though he would far rather be somewhere else. Handsome, certainly, but not in the common way; one could almost believe, studying his countenance, that the King had a trace of fairy blood in his veins. It would certainly explain a great deal of his obsessions.

All this was wonderful, to be sure, but it in no way assisted us in our search for the detective. We diverted our attention from the sightseeing (no easy task, as may be imagined) and began making discreet inquiries. Mr. Mycroft Holmes provided us with a rare photograph of his brother, which we have been able to display to those to whom we put our questions, but there has been virtually no favorable response. "_Nein_."

I can hardly count our journey here as having been for nothing, but it has been unproductive as far as our actual goal.

-----

_25 July 1900_

I have not written, for there has been little to say; the country is beautiful, the people are pleasant, we continue to have no luck in our search. But now, at last, we have uncovered a clue which at least has pointed us in the right direction.

We were having a quiet supper in a little country inn, some hours' drive from Neuschwanstein. I daresay we have all been brought a bit low by the events of late, for it has begun to feel as though our search is hopeless and we may indeed never find Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Nemo seems particularly affected by our continuing failure; perhaps he is simply unused to not being able to succeed. In any case, it was almost as an afterthought that he showed the photograph to the innkeeper and inquired as to whether such a man had been seen.

To our profound amazement and relief, the innkeeper, after a few moments' contemplation, did recognize Mr. Holmes. He spoke no English, but his son was rather better educated and was able to translate for us. Yes, he said, this man stayed with us. He was here only the one night, but I remember he played the violin.

This was a sure sign indeed, for Mr. Holmes is something of a violin virtuoso. According to Dr. Watson's accounts, he owns a very valuable Stradivarius. But it struck me as odd that he would travel with such a costly attraction to thieves, and I asked whether the violin had been his own.

"I'm sure I don't know," said the son. "He was traveling with a few other musicians, they paid for their rooms in currency but bought their meals with their music."

This unexpected statement left us all staring at one another in perplexity. "How can this possibly be the right individual?" asked Nemo in a low voice. "Mycroft Holmes told us his brother was traveling alone."

"Maybe he just wanted company," said Tom with a shrug. "Or maybe it's one of his disguises -- I heard he's real good with disguises."

"That's true. He is," said Henry, thoughtfully. To the innkeeper's son, he inquired, "Do you know where these musicians went when they left your establishment?"

Father and son conferred for a minute. "Munich," said the son, finally. "Your violinist seemed anxious to be moving north; there was something of a quarrel among the others on that matter, but they finally agreed they would keep him with them as far as Munich."

I am sure I need hardly mention what a salutary effect this news has had on all of our dispositions. Alex is already sleeping, for we much desire to get an early start for Munich. I am not sure whether we can hope to overtake the party, but at least we may find where they have gone from that city.


	11. Follow That Violinist

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Pushing onward...I basically cleared my schedule today so I could try really really hard to get this volume as close to done as possible! If nothing else, I am determined to have Sherlock Holmes back in England before I go to sleep tonight.

-----

_27 July 1900_

If I have any objections whatsoever to this entire adventure on which we presently find ourselves, it is the dearth of time it has allowed me to spend alone with my betrothed. We have time enough together, certainly, but never just the two of us. It would hardly be safe for us to wander away in a strange country.

Nevertheless, today that is exactly what we decided to do.

We stopped to rest the horses; we are perhaps one-third of the way to Munich at this point. We all would like very much to rush, but we fear exhausting the animals, for all they are a hardy breed. So we have not dared to push them too hard, lest we find ourselves stranded in an uninhabited area -- and indeed, there have been many stretches of land where another soul could not be seen for miles. It is a little unsettling at times; one could almost believe there were no other people in the country at all. In any event, we stopped to rest the horses for an hour while we ate our luncheon. Following the meal, Rodney caught me by the hand.

"Come with me."

I did not know what he was about, and I was much perplexed by the action. But I followed him as he led me away from our carriages, into a little patch of trees. I can smile about it now, but there was a time when I would have been deeply afraid to enter such a location with an admitted thief, even a reformed one.

"Rodney, what are we doing?"

"Just takin' a break, Bessie." He seated himself on a fallen tree and patted the spot beside him, which I at once moved to occupy.

"A break from what, exactly?"

"Everything." His tone suggested that he, too, has been regretting the loss of private time.

I could not but give him a gently chiding look. "I thought you were well pleased to be with your niece again."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to death she's here." He smiled at me. "And it's a treat to see how well you two are gettin' on, you're practically sisters. Couldn't have asked for better. I just..." He chuckled. "I'm sort of used to having you all to myself whenever I want. Been a little greedy about it since America, I know, but can you blame me? And we haven't had two minutes to just ourselves since we left the ship."

"I know." I leaned against him a little. My hands were in my lap, and although there was only so much sunlight penetrating the leafy cover overhead, a tiny bit managed to splash onto the diamonds in my engagement ring, making them gleam. "Truthfully, I had believed we would be married by now."

"So did I, love. Thought about trying for a special license and getting all that taken care of before we left London," he confessed. "But I didn't want to cheat you out of the proper wedding; I know you and Ducky've been putting your heads together."

"Yes, we're a little concerned about your plan to ask everyone to wear kilts." I giggled, and explained about the tartan turban idea we'd had some time ago. He whooped, and the little glade rang with his infectious laughter.

"No, I promise, no tartan turbans for Nemo." As I glanced up at him, I saw he'd turned a little red. "D'you...I mean...what d'you think he'll want the kids to call him?"

"The -- oh." It was my turn to blush. "I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. But he will be their grandfather of a sort, won't he? He'll have to have a special name of his own. Perhaps we can ask him how to say the word in his own language, and teach the children to call him that."

"Clever girl."

What little more privacy we were able to enjoy, and I shall decline to record any details, was soon interrupted by a small search party. "Well, finally!" said my exasperated almost-brother, coming upon us. "You two had us worried half to death."

We offered an apology of which we meant not a single word. I daresay he knew as much; he just laughed, and shook his head, and we followed him back to the carriages. Our apologies to Nemo were more sincere, and fortunately, I think he understood. After all, my dear father-captain was in love once too.

-----

_28 July 1900_

How terribly frustrating! Mr. Holmes and his companions are gone from Munich, and not a soul in the city appears to have the first idea where they may have traveled next. I could almost weep from vexation, for it begins to feel as though we really are wasting our time.

The trail led us as far as the _Bayerischer Hof_, a truly magnificent, almost palatial hotel in the heart of Munich, and then grew quite cold. Although we were fortunate enough to find an employee who spoke impeccable English, he could give us little in the way of helpful information. The traveling musicians did not stay in the hotel, but did eat a meal in the little restaurant on the main floor. From there, they had parted company; most of the group went to board a train which would carry them toward Bohemia, but the violinist -- "who did indeed resemble the gentleman in your photograph, but I could not swear that it was he" -- set off alone in a completely different direction.

We decided amongst ourselves that we would stay the night in this splendid establishment; to myself, at least, it is almost a consolation prize, something we are gifting to ourselves to somewhat compensate for what feels like complete and utter failure.

-----

_29 July 1900_

I cannot help smiling a little at my despondent tone of last night, compared with now.

Following our breakfast this morning, Henry excused himself, saying he wished to locate a telegraph office and send a message back to Mina on the ship. It occasionally slips my remembrance that the _Nautilus_ has its own telegraph equipment and is capable of receiving our messages when we are away; I suppose this is because under normal circumstances, the only people to whom I would be inclined to send such a telegram are already with me. But it does allow Nemo to keep in touch with the majority of the crewmen, and in this case, it allowed Henry to contact his wife, whom I know he misses sadly.

Alex and I asked if we might accompany him part of the way, and amuse ourselves by browsing the wares of the German shops. I think at this point we had more or less concluded that we were giving up the chase, so we reasoned that we may as well indulge in a little recreation while we still had the opportunity. No objection was raised to our idea, and the three of us presently set off together.

Henry left us as the corner of one long street. The telegraph office was just opposite, and we promised to meet him there in half an hour's time, which we imagined would be long enough to walk the length of the street and back and at least look into the windows of the stores. We did receive a few odd looks from the people we passed, for Alex and I naturally conversed in English, and it made us stand out. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but it turned out to be well worth the trouble.

As we stood before the window of a bookstore, trying to guess at the translations of titles and seeing what we recognized, I sensed a passerby pause near us, as though listening. A moment later, a short, polite cough stopped the stream of our conversation. Turning, we were confronted with a short, pleasant-faced German man in a long black frock. Alex and I have both been raised in the Church of England, but it was not difficult to see that this was the habit of a monk, and the color of his garments made him unmistakably a Benedictine.

"Excuse me." His English was very good, but his accent heavy and slightly clipped. "You are from England, yes?"

We acknowledged that we were. "I must beg for your aid," he said. "I am Brother Lechner, of the _Abtei St. Bonifaz._" (I would later learn the English translation of this name -- St. Boniface's Abbey.) "One of your countrymen was brought to our door in pitiable condition, and though we have been nursing him back to health these many weeks, we have no means of returning him to your shores."

It may well be imagined with what incredulity Alex and I exchanged glances at such an extraordinary speech. "I beg your pardon, sir," said I, politely, "but--"

"Eliza," Alex interrupted me, "perhaps he should tell his story to Nemo."

I looked at her; there was a significant expression in her eyes, and suddenly I took her meaning. "That might be best," I agreed. "Sir, if you will be so kind as to accompany us? We ourselves are in no position to assist you, but my guardian may be able to do more."

Such a relief washed over his features at these words, and he nodded emphatically. "It would be a great service to us and to our guest," he said. "We are always glad to give refuge to those in need, but our resources will not permit us to keep him much longer."

The three of us began to walk back to where we would meet Henry. "You say he has been with you for some weeks?" I asked.

"Almost a month, in fact. We would not have kept him so long, but he was suffering from exhaustion and a terrible fever. It has taken our most skilled brothers a great effort to restore him to health. Unfortunately..."

"Unfortunately?" Alex and I chorused, somewhat alarmed.

"Unfortunately, we have no idea who the gentleman is." Brother Lechner's tone was grave. "He was in no condition to answer any questions for a long time, and even now, his memory is strained. The brain fever has done much damage."

This was grave news indeed. Brain fever is never to be taken lightly. We quickened our pace and surprised Henry, who was not expecting us for several more minutes. His eyes grew wide when we introduced our new friend, and we returned to the hotel with all haste.

As I write these lines, Brother Lechner is conferring with the gentlemen of our party, and -- I should hope -- we will shortly be departing for St. Boniface's. Alex has troubled herself to ring the front desk for a map of the city, and we have determined that the abbey is really not too far; it is considered to be within the city limits, in fact. From what he explained while we were still in the room, Brother Lechner had come to the shopping district to visit the bookstore where he had found Alex and myself; it was a rare outing for him, as he does not ordinarily leave the abbey proper, and he is quite convinced that the divine hand of God was guiding him. I certainly have no better explanation, nor do I care to search for one.

They are calling. We must go.


	12. St Boniface's Abbey

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Someone should draw me hunched over my keyboard with one of those big anime sweatdrops coming out of my head. That's how I feel.

-----

_31 July 1900_

There has been no opportunity to update since I wrote that we were departing for the monastery, as everything has been quite incredibly chaotic. We are going home! But I must start at the beginning. Although our crewman escort remained behind at the hotel, we still took both carriages, intending that no matter who the unfortunate Englishman was, we would take it upon ourselves to return him to his native country. It seemed the least we could do, since we'd had no luck chasing down Mr. Holmes.

St. Boniface's is a beautiful abbey, just fifty years old, constructed in the Byzantine style. It is the home of the tomb of King Ludwig I of Bavaria (not to be confused with Ludwig II, who commissioned Neuschwanstein). The monks smiled at us as we entered and were led through the building. We could see them going about their tasks -- tending gardens, kneeling in prayer, writing. I've often thought that a monastic life must be rather peaceful; actually, before the League landed on my doorstep, _monastic_ would not have been an entirely inappropriate word to describe my own life. It was peaceful, but I'm much happier now.

We were escorted to a room which more or less functions as a hospital wing for the monks. There were a few patients there, and one was more or less obscured from our view by a curtain. This was slowly drawn back in short order, however, and one glance at the figure on the bed told us everything.

_We had found Sherlock Holmes._

This was why he has been unable to return home or even to contact his brother -- he has been bedridden, his mind ravaged by fever. For a long time he probably had barely wit enough to recognize that he wasn't even in his own home. He lay sleeping, and we were unsure about whether to wake him. Henry had apparently explained to Brother Lechner that he is a doctor, for he was permitted to move around the bed and conduct his own examination of the sleeping detective. "Elizabeth," he said, "I want you to speak with Brother Hesse, here. He has had the chief of Mr. Holmes' care and I would like you to get all the information about his condition that you can."

Once I had finished that task -- Brother Hesse, like Brother Lechner, spoke very good though accented English -- I returned to the sickroom and could hear voices. One was weak, but strident. "I do not know anything of what you are telling me," he said flatly. "It may be so, but I have no clear proofs at this moment."

"Sir, I give you my word as a fellow Englishman," I could hear Henry telling him gently. "We are here at the request of your brother Mycroft, to bring you safely home."

"And I give you _my_ word, as whatever you please, that I will not move until you can prove to me that your claims are valid!"

I slipped up behind Tom and Rodney, who were standing close together and looking uncomfortable; Alex seemed almost teary-eyed. "What's going on?" I inquired.

"He's refusing to let us take him home unless we can prove that Mycroft sent us," said Rodney, glumly. "Which we can't very well do."

"We have the letter he sent with us, don't we?"

"Yeah, well, there's the problem," said Tom. "He's not convinced it's authentic -- or that Mycroft Holmes is actually his brother. Suspicious bugger, ain't he?"

"Seems to run in the family. Remember how dodgy the other one was about Watson?"

I edged forward, and cleared my throat. "Pardon me, doctor," I said, "but I took the information you wanted." I glanced at Mr. Holmes with what I intended to be nothing more than a kindly expression, and a nod of polite greeting. The change to his countenance was extraordinary. His face was pale as he gazed up at me, but it seemed that his eyes developed something of a spark to them. We stared at one another for a moment, grey eyes on grey eyes, and then he spoke.

"Lucy?"

I could hear the murmurs of surprise swelling around me; Alex told me later that my face was "a perfect mask of confusion." Mr. Holmes shook his head slightly. "Lucy...where is your mother..."

"Who's Lucy?" I heard Tom mutter.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm..." I hesitated to say that I was not Lucy, but after a moment, it seemed quite unnecessary. He gave himself another, stronger shake, and looked at me hard.

"Forgive me. You can certainly not be who I thought you were." He turned toward Henry again. "Show me the letter?"

I think I may safely say that we were all beyond perplexed as the famous detective read the lines of introduction signed by his brother. "Yes," he said at last, his voice somewhat faint. "Yes...I remember. Mycroft...of course Mycroft would send someone...after the last time..."

I watched his face with interest. Something was going on behind his eyes; things were stirring, settling into place. His gaze was sharpening, gaining focus. It even seemed (though this may have been a trick of the light or my imagination) that he was willing strength to return to his atrophied limbs. He held the letter in long, elegant fingers, and after a moment he gave a soft sigh.

"May we go home?" he asked. "This German air is wonderfully restorative...but I think the cure I most need now can only be found in Baker Street."

There was a collective sound of joy and relief and amazement. "He's remembered!" Alex exclaimed.

From this point there followed the great flurry of activity. We wired Mina that we were on our way, and victorious besides; we further sent a wire to Mr. Mycroft Holmes, a more cryptically worded message that nevertheless conveyed all the necessary information. I can only imagine with what happiness it must have been received. It amused me, so I noted the phrasing:

RETURNING STOP

QUARRY OBTAINED STOP

ALL WELL STOP

Mr. Holmes felt it necessary, and I think we all agreed, to compensate the Benedictines for their care. "Without your kindness, I would surely never have been able to see England again," he said. Once he had made his contribution to the abbey, we took our leave of the brothers, and conveyed Mr. Holmes back to our hotel. From there we collected our own belongings and, following some small discussion on the subject, sold both carriages and the horses which had drawn them. It seeme both fastest and, for the invalid's sake, most comfortable to buy rail passes that would carry us back into Thuringia, and there we will meet with the _Nautilus_ and return to England.

We are at present aboard our train. We have arranged for the use of a few adjacent compartments, and Mr. Holmes is resting peacefully in one of the beds. He must be carefully monitored all throughout our return trip, lest he suffer any sort of relapse; brain fever is not something to be treated lightly.

-----

_3 August 1900_

Oh, how I have missed this ship! It seems an age since we disembarked. Mina has done an excellent job in looking after my plants in my absence, and I do believe little Jonathan has grown. He greeted us all with the affection that only a small child can bestow, flinging himself first into Henry's arms with a joyful cry of "Papa!"

I note that Mr. Holmes watched this scene with a sort of bemusement. He is too good at concealing any true feelings; as Rodney says, "he's definitely not the sort of bloke you ever want to play cards with." But I have to wonder what went through his mind when he beheld the happy little family reunion. He does not speak much just yet; I think he is simply growing accustomed to our individual personalities. I am sure that he has heard of Henry Jekyll, and may even be wondering (as I once did) as to the reports of his death. I'm even more sure that he has heard of Nemo, though only the less amiable stories.

He has proven a fairly quiet patient. I do not think he cares much for being ordered to take medicine, or indeed, ordered to do _anything_. But the severity of his illness has quelled the more masterful aspects of his temperament, I suspect, and he is submitting more or less without complaint to Henry's and my instructions. I have been endeavoring to relieve Henry as often as possible, so that he has the opportunity to be with the wife and son I know he has missed dreadfully.

-----

_5 August 1900_

Had I ventured a guess, I would not have presumed that Mr. Sherlock Holmes had ever been acquainted with the existence of a creature named Elizabeth Quatermain. In this I would have been mostly correct; however, today I learned that it is not entirely accurate.

He was sleeping when I arrived in the infirmary to relieve Henry's watch, and I seated myself with a bit of needlework I had brought. I still have a wedding to plan, after all, and it is hardly too soon to be arranging my trousseau; I therefore have been, since our return to the _Nautilus_, at work on an embroidered counterpane, though I freely admit I do not expect to actually finish it in time for the wedding.

"Ah, Miss Quatermain."

I looked over to find the patient awake, and watching me with mild disinterest. "How do you feel today, Mr. Holmes?" I inquired. "May I get you something to eat or drink?"

"I could not tell you the last time I enjoyed a cup of proper English tea, if you wouldn't mind."

I at once set about preparing tea for him, and when it was ready, I poured two cups and resumed my seat. "You are comfortable, I trust?" I asked.

"In largest part. But I have a question for you."

"Not at all."

"Pray, how are you related to Allan Quatermain?"

I was not surprised that he should know my father's name; I was, however, very much surprised that he would begin to imagine that there was a relation. Quatermain is not the most unusual name. My face must have betrayed some of my feeling, because he smiled. "I find myself," he said, "in the company of such extraordinary companions as Captain Nemo and Dr. Jekyll. It seems too much to expect that anyone in the company by the name of Quatermain could fail to be a relation to the great white hunter. You are his daughter, are you not?"

"Indeed I am."

"And how is he?"

I glanced briefly at my teacup. "He was taken from us last year."

"I am sorry to hear it. He was a great man."

"Did you know him, sir?" I could not prevent myself from asking.

"I met him, yes. It was...oh, at least as many years ago as you yourself have years, I should think. We encountered one another at a location called the Crucible of Life."

"I am unfamiliar with that story, sir...would you be so good...?"

Sherlock Holmes, I was quick enough to discover, rarely objects to retelling any of his adventures, and he seemed only too willing to consent to my request. He began to speak about their shared adventure in seeking out the Crucible of Life, home of the very essence of life. I listened, enraptured, for a long time as he explained the reasons he had traveled under an alias, how my father had reacted to what he called a "magician's trick," and how they had parted company. The tea went cold.


	13. Patients and Impatience

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Once again I must thank my beloved friend Jessica, for helping me with the dialogue in this chapter. I also want to thank Ella, the fan artist, who is currently at work on a picture of the first meeting between Elizabeth and Alexandra. I can't wait to see it!

-----

_8 August 1900_

My counterpane progresses slowly, which is of course my least interesting news.

Mr. Holmes improves by the day. The closer we get to England, the better he seems to become. It is very clear that he looks forward to getting home, but I have noticed something peculiar in his speech pattern. Although Dr. Watson is mentioned not infrequently, Mr. Holmes always refers to him in a rather precise fashion. "Poor Watson," or "my dear Watson," or even just Watson -- never "he" or "him." It seems strange, but perhaps it is simply his way.

In any case, he is slowly being allowed out of bed for longer periods of time, and when we have been able to surface, we have contrived once or twice to help him out to the deck for some fresh sea air. Being on the deck seems beneficial to him, but actually making the climb does tax his strength somewhat, so Henry is severely limiting the attempts.

I have inquired with the detective about the group of musicians with whom he had been travelling, which turned out to be quite a source of amusement for him. Apparently, he was never with any group of musicians at any time during his travels. "You must have been chasing a lookalike of some sort," said he, chuckling. "What a strange coincidence that he should also play the violin."

By now, too, he has extracted from me the details of my father's death, and was much chagrined to learn that his valiant effort on the Reichenbach Fall had been for nothing. I tried to assure him that the attempt was nobly made, but apparently he was not the only one who found a way to cheat death on that slippery mountain. He seems to feel the sting keenly nevertheless; perhaps he is stricken by guilt, reasoning that if he had succeeded in taking Moriarty's life at the falls, my father would still be alive. I hope at least he understands that I bear him not the least ill will on that score.

Of course, there were some details which I was ill-equipped to provide, and so Tom had to be summoned to regale Mr. Holmes (and myself, in truth, and I managed to pull Alex into the room for the story as well) with the story of how Moriarty, calling himself M, had rallied the League in the first place, and how Tom had finally brought the Napoleon of Crime to ultimate justice. We were then obliged to explain to him how I, and later Alex, came to be aboard the ship, and all about the events of Paris. It is the first time since I recounted them in my diary that I have permitted myself to think much about what happened in that dim warehouse, but it no longer haunts me the way it once did. Our Egyptian adventures, too, were recounted for the patient's amusement, though in a rather abbreviated form; we have agreed, outside the sickroom, to mention nothing to Mr. Holmes of vampires, invisible men, murderous Incan statues, or Edward Hyde. We could and did, however, tell him about what transpired while the League was in America, as there was nothing remotely supernatural about that particular set of events, but I think he was less impressed with the tale of my personal love triangle than he was with other parts of our tale. Still, it was an engaging way to pass the afternoon -- we began speaking of the matter just after luncheon yesterday, and teatime was in progress by the time we finished it all, with the entire League having relocated to the infirmary to participate in the telling.

As Rodney said afterward, making us all laugh, "I feel like I just went for a stroll through the pages of Bessie's diary!"

-----

_9 August 1900_

I have begun to suspect that Alex is displeased with me of late, and now I know it to be true. It is altogether patched up, but it did trouble me deeply when she at last aired her grievance.

I was in the infirmary; Mr. Holmes had gone to sleep, so I was again at work on my counterpane. She appeared in the doorway and asked me -- rather oddly, I felt -- if I would care to join her and her uncle in a game of cards this evening.

"I should like it better than anything, if Henry can spare me from the sickroom. I've missed our games."

"I rather think Henry could spare you."

There was something in her voice that sounded...wrong. "Is something troubling you, Alex dear?"

"Not me, no. Would you like to come into the outer room for some tea?"

Mystified, I nodded. "I think I can safely leave him for a time."

We moved into the second chamber of the infirmary, and Alex set about making the tea, but she was so evidently rattled by what was on her mind that she dropped four sugar cubes into the same cup. "Oh. Bloody hell." She carefully poured half of it into the second cup, then diluted both with more tea. "Here we are."

"Alex, whatever is troubling you so?"

She sighed. "Actually, Elizabeth, you are. In an indirect fashion."

"Me? What have I done?"

"It is really more what you have _not _done."

"All right, what have I _not _done?"

She fixed me with an abnormally stern look. "When was the last time you left this infirmary for anything but to sleep?"

I was rather bewildered by the question. "I admit I have been spending a large quantity of time in here," I acknowledged, "but you know I am part of the ship's medical staff; this isn't entirely unusual for me."

"You're acting like you're the only medical staff."

"Henry does have other obligations..."

"As do you."

"I know. And I've neglected them, and I am sorry for it. But...Alex, there are a few things you don't quite understand about Mr. Holmes."

"I don't particularly care about Mr. Holmes." She seemed to be sort of gathering steam to let out her next sentence. "I do, however, care deeply for the man who thinks Mr. Holmes has replaced him!"

At these words, I only just barely kept a grip on my teacup; and I could feel the blood drain from my face. "He...oh. Oh, no no no."

Almost at once, Alex's expression lost much of its hardness; evidently she felt she had been too harsh. "Elizabeth, dearest friend, I've just come from the library. Uncle Rodney came in, certain that you'd prefer a man like Holmes to him. And you've given him no reason to think otherwise, lately."

"It's not that I haven't wanted to tell anyone what's going on -- there's just been little opportunity. Brain fever can be so devastating, I've been anxious to prevent him from relapsing. But...Alex..." My eyes were wet. "Alex, he knew my father."

At once she came and embraced me firmly, and I could tell she felt guilty for having been so angry with me. I explained about the Crucible of Life. "But you are quite right to point out that I've neglected Rodney," I concluded. "I should make it up to him as soon as possible. Poor dear. Surely he knows -- Alex, he must know that -- he has nothing to fear from Mr. Holmes? Nor from anyone else."

"He doesn't." Her voice was much gentler now. "You know him, Liza. He loved you from afar, and you know how frightened he was to lose you before he could even have you. Uncle Rodney is only just beginning to realize that he deserves this life... much less you."

"I should go to him...you say he is in the library?"

"He is. I will stay with Mr. Holmes in case he wakes up -- you, my dear, need to tell Uncle Rodney everything you've just told me. I think it will help him, and you."

"Thank you, Alex, for bringing it to my attention. I will go to him immediately."

I was so blinded by my anxiety for Rodney that I could barely see, and it is a mystery to me how I managed to find the library. He was sitting on one end of the long davenport, where so often he has found me, picking through a copy of _The Scarlet Pimpernel_. (Later, the choice of reading material would amuse me when I had time to think about it.)

I allowed myself a moment to simply watch him, to contemplate this man and his ceaseless, unfathomable devotion. It is strange to be the recipient of a love like his, in truth, for he is the sort of man that I suspect many people would believe is incapable of that depth of feeling. In the not-quite-year of our acquaintance, he has changed so much in my personal estimation, from common sneak thief to playful companion to tireless protector, ultimately emerging as the lover I always longed to find and never dared to believe could be real. The instant he heard my voice and looked up, he put the book aside and stood. "You all right, Bessie?"

I assured him I was, and remarked that he seemed surprised to see me. He looked a little confused. "Well, you ah, you're usually in the infirmary nowadays."

"I left Mr. Holmes asleep...Alex is looking after him for me. She felt, and I am inclined to agree, that you and I have not seen nearly enough of one another lately."

"That meddlin' minx...you know I'll always take more time with you, love, but you're needed."

"Yes...I am." I smiled. "Here, more than anywhere."

"Oh. Well...not about to object, am I?" He smiled, though he still looked slightly nonplussed. "Here, sit down."

I joined him on the sofa, taking one of his hands in my own. "I'd like you to know just what's been transpiring between Mr. Holmes and myself."

"I don't have to call 'im out, do I?" he teased.

"Don't be absurd," I said, laughing. "No, we have been discussing a great deal of our shared history. You know we've told him of Moriarty's true demise, and he's told me of the time he met my father."

"He met _Allan_?" Rodney listened as I recounted a summation of what Mr. Holmes had told me. "Oh, Bessie love, no wonder you've been hanging on his every word. Will you forgve a rogue for moping?"

"Only if you can forgive an overenthusiastic nursemaid for being a little too devoted to a patient. It seems to be a recurring flaw for me."

He chuckled. "Long as you don't accept any proposals from anyone else, I think we'll be all right."

I smiled again. "Would it be dreadfully improper of me, then, to entreat you to devote an hour or so to my exclusive companionship?"

"I think I could manage it. Though that book Ducky loaned me was gettin' interesting..." His eyes twinkled.

"Oh, yes, I can well imagine. Well, if you'd prefer to read..." I made to stand up, trying not to smile.

"Come here, you." He stood up as well, pulling me into a tight embrace for a moment. "Not letting you get away that easily, Miss Q."

"Since when do you call me that?" I was amused, and pulled back to look into his eyes.

"You're still a miss, Bess. Won't be a Mrs. until we get to Scotland."

"Ah, is Scotland still the plan then? It's been so long since anyone's mentioned the wedding, I really wasn't sure."

"Of course it is. You wouldn't rob a fella of the chance to tell Sawyer he's wearin' a kilt, would you, love?"

I had to laugh, remembering our previous discussion on the matter. "Come to think about it," Rodney continued, "maybe you should be the one to tell him. He'd have a harder time saying no to _you_."

"Alex will want to bear witness to that as well," I said. "Do you think -- as I do -- that they would do well together?"

"And here I thought I was just trying to make everyone happy as I am. Yes, I do."

"She's rather taken with him, I could swear to it. I've seen her turn pink more than once at the very sight of him."

We continued talking in this vein as we made our way up to the sunlit deck, and breathed in the salty air. It felt invigorating. "I don't know when we should discuss the kilt matter with your groomsmen," I remarked, leaning agains the rail, "but it most certainly will not be right now."

"Bessie, I've got much better ideas for right now." He stood next to me with a hand at my waist, gazing out over the water. "Holmes has had the best medicine there is, it's no wonder he's better." In a quieter tone he added, "I always feel better with you."

"Well, then, you're in luck," said I, smiling. "Once we reach London, Mr. Holmes will be in the care of a very different doctor...whereas you are going to be in my care for always."

His laugh was rich. "I'm a sick man, indeed."

"Is that so? Are you feverish, my love?" I pressed a playful hand to his forehead.

"Entirely. You may not want to leave my side. Who knows if I'll take a turn to the worse."

"Really. Must I fawn over you night and day until you are cured?"

"I really don't think anything can cure me. If anything, I'm only going to get sicker and sicker throughout our lives."

"I'll have my work cut out for me, then. Fortunately, I'm up to the task."

He gave what can only be described as a very content sigh. "I wonder when we'll see London town on the horizon."

"Oh, another few days at the most, I should think." I leaned against him. "And you will have your full pardon from the Queen, and be a completely free man."

"I'm not free...I'm a kept man," he said placidly. "And I like it this way."


	14. Dr Watson's Secret

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Yeeeeeah, I think this chapter may be a little confusing...it makes sense to me, of course, but these guys all live in my head. If you don't understand, wait for the FAQ at the end of the story. I really wanted to post two chapters tonight, but I'm under the weather and this one was all I could do. More tomorrow, I'm hoping.

-----

_9 August 1900_

I think perhaps word may have gotten back to Henry that I've been spending a bit too much time with our extraordinary patient, because today I was unceremoniously barred from the infirmary. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration, but he dropped very heavy hints that I have other things I ought to be doing.

Let it not be said that I am unable to take a hint. Alex and I spent a little time in the nursery with Jonathan, where some very important work was accomplished involving a ball. Then we joined Rodney and Tom in the library for a spirited (if ill-fated) attempt at double chess, which HRH the Prince Consort used to play. It was extremely confusing and we ultimately gave it up in favor of taking turns with the draughts board.

Just as Alex and Tom were commencing their tiebreaking match, Nemo arrived to share a telegram he had received from Mr. Mycroft Holmes. "I wired to inform Mr. Holmes that we anticipate reaching the docks the day after tomorrow," he explained. "He intends to meet us there."

"Perhaps Dr. Watson will too!" exclaimed Alex. "I have to admit, with all the secrecy they seem to keep around him, I'm violently curious to see the gentleman."

"Have you told Mr. Sherlock Holmes about this?" I asked.

"I have. He chuckled," Nemo said. He smiled, but I could see he was faintly puzzled. "Then he said that the situation must have been grave indeed, if his brother could exert himself to such an extent."

"I can explain that, I think," said a new voice, and we turned to see Henry in the doorway. "In the story _The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter_, when Mycroft Holmes is first introduced, his brother comments that he almost never goes anywhere except his own workplace and the Diogenes Club, which is opposite his quarters."

"The Diogenes Club?" Tom repeated.

"A gentlemen's club where the members aren't allowed to talk."

"Aren't allowed...?"

Henry put up his hands in a playfully defensive gesture. "All I know is what Dr. Watson writes," he said.

"Did Holmes think Watson might meet us?" asked Rodney.

"Again, I do not claim to understand his remarks. He said he was uncertain whether Mycroft Holmes would allow Dr. Watson to be at the dock." Nemo furrowed his brow. "Perhaps the detective is still unwell."

"He does say some odd things, now that you mention it," said Alex. "Do you know, I mentioned the piano in the library to him as he was falling asleep the other day, and he said something about a piano being 'the sound of home.' But I thought Mr. Holmes played the violin. Where would the piano come in?"

"Maybe Watson plays?" asked Tom, doubtfully.

"More likely Mrs. Hudson, the landlady," I suggested. I think we all agree that the celebrated detective has proven to be as much of a mystery as anything else.

-----

_11 August 1900_

We have now bid farewell to our resident patient, in a peculiar set of circumstances that I hope shall soon be explained. As promised, Mr. Mycroft Holmes was in his carriage on the London dock, waiting patiently as Henry assisted his brother down the ramp. Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an extremely tall man, at least six feet if not more, and while Henry is not lacking in stature, there was a distinct disparity between them. We all followed, but before anyone could say a word, the carriage door opened.

Emerging from the vehicle was a woman, perhaps six or seven years older than myself. Who she was, we could not tell. She was a little taller than myself, with chestnut hair and the most vivid green eyes I have ever seen. Her face and figure displayed a pleasant, comfortable sort of attraction; not a great beauty, but nevertheless immensely appealing. She had eyes only for the detective, and we all watched him for some clue as to the lady's identity.

"I wondered if you would come," he said.

"She wouldn't take no for an answer," Mycroft interrupted through the carriage window. "You're looking rather peaky, Sherlock."

"Oh, it's nothing the light in Baker Street won't repair," replied the younger brother. "A few days of Mrs. Hudson's cooking will not go amiss either." He turned, still allowing Henry to support him on one side, to shake hands with each of us in turn. To Henry, to Mina, to Nemo and to Tom, he offered his thanks for their care and hospitality.

I was heartily flattered when it came Rodney's turn. He at first looked as though he didn't wish to shake Mr. Holmes's hand at all, but willed himself to remember what I had told him a few days ago. "Mr. Skinner," said the detective, "I thank you for your part in my return to England. I should further venture to say that I consider you a fortunate man. Miss Quatermain, Miss Skinner, I am much obliged to you for your particular efforts toward my comfort."

The unknown woman, who had taken a step or two forward and was listening to Mr. Holmes intently, turned at these words to regard us favorably. "I thank you all as well," she said, speaking for the first time.

"You're very welcome," said Tom, "Miss...er...?"

She smiled; there was something almost familiar in the archness of her smile. "If the young ladies will consent to call in Baker Street tomorrow," said she, "I think we may clear up any questions that may remain unanswered."

At these words, Mr. Holmes gave a single, sharp "Ha!," almost a bark of laughter. "I doubt they will be able to stay away." He suddenly coughed, drawing a handkerchief from one pocket to cover his mouth.

"We'd best get you home, Sherlock." Mr. Mycroft Holmes had not moved. With Henry aiding him on one side and the lady on the other, the detective was eased into the comforts of the carriage. The lady joined him there, and as the carriage door shut, the elder Holmes lifted a hand in our direction.

"I shall contact you soon about the promise I made," he said. "My thanks to you all." The carriage lurched forward, and they were soon out of sight.

We've discussed little else since then, Alex and I. Who is this woman? Why did she invite us to Baker Street? We went to the library, ostensibly for a piano lesson, but there was not much playing done by either.

"Could she be Dr. Watson's wife?" I suggested. "Henry did mention that Watson is married during one of the stories."

"But why would Mrs. Watson come, and not the doctor himself?"

"This is true. Why do you think she didn't invite all of us?"

"I was wondering that myself. Maybe it's because Mr. Holmes singled us out for having paid attention to his comfort." Alex blushed a little. "I didn't really do anything."

"You don't fool me. I know perfectly well that you played the piano for him quite a few times during his convalescence," I told her, smiling.

"He enjoyed it so much, how could I not?"

"Well, that's being concerned for his comfort, surely. I suppose we'll find it all out tomorrow."

But I can scarcely contain my wonderment, even excitement, and she feels the same.

-----

_12 August 1900_

The answer to our riddle has come, and never in a thousand years could I have begun to guess what we would learn in Baker Street today!

Alex and I, after herculean efforts to be patient, departed for Baker Street in a hansom cab at half past one. "I wonder," said I as we rolled along the streets, "what sort of reception we can expect today, as compared with last time. Mrs. Hudson all but shut the door on our noses."

"Well, at least this time we were invited," Alex said pragmatically.

We reached our destination and pulled on the bell. Half a minute later, Mrs. Hudson appeared, looking ten times more genial than when we saw her last. "Welcome, my dears," she said. "How do you do, won't you come in? Charlotte's right upstairs, just go up and knock on the door."

Somewhat mystified by the entire situation, we trudged up the famous seventeen steps and rapped on the wooden door. It opened in short order, and we were greeted not by the unknown woman from the docks, but by a small child. She looked to be perhaps seven or eight years old, wearing a cream-coloured pinafore, with shining black hair tied neatly back in a large bow.

"How do you do," she said politely. Her manners were curiously adult. "Please come in -- Mama will be with you in a moment." She pattered across the floor, inviting us to follow.

The study was not as famously untidy as Dr. Watson would have the readers suspect, though it certainly did have cluttered spots here and there. A bearskin rug eyed us from the hearth, mismatched chairs placed on either side to face each other. I looked at Alex, and she at me; neither of us knew quite what to think.

"Good afternoon," said the voice I recognized from the day previous, and we turned to say hello to our hostess. She held the little girl by the hand. "If you'll come upstairs, I have the tea laid out in the parlour."

Up another short flight of stairs, we found a few more rooms of which there was no mention in the stories. A child's bedroom was just barely visible through a partially open door, and beside it was a narrow lady's sitting room. The walls were papered in pale blue, and a soft red settee was pushed against one wall, a table before it laid out with a silver tea service. In one of the far corners was a secretary and chair; directly opposite was a small upright piano. At the lady's urging, we seated ourselves on the settee and looked at her somewhat curiously.

"There was no opportunity to introduce myself yesterday," she said, pulling the chair over from her secretary and sitting down to pour the tea. "I knew that Sherlock needed to be brought straight home, and Mycroft had his qualms about allowing me to go at all. But he understands...it reminded me too much of another time."

"Ma'am," I ventured, "I'm afraid we don't quite understand."

"No, I should be surprised if you did." She smiled; the green of her dress made her eyes even more vibrant. "I'm so pleased to have this chance to get acquainted with you before you leave again, though. My name is Mrs. Charlotte Holmes."

It was fortunate that neither of us were holding our teacups as yet, for they quite possibly would have gone crashing to the floor. "Then...then you are..."

"The detective's wife. Yes. And this," she added, extending a hand to the child who peeped around the doorframe, "is our daughter, Lucy."

At these words, even as the child moved to stand beside her mother, something clicked in my mind. _Lucy, where is your mother?_ "Mr. Holmes mentioned you," I blurted, addressing the remark to the little girl. To Mrs. Holmes, I explained, "When he first looked at me, Mr. Holmes seemed to think that I was Lucy. He asked me where my mother was."

"Mm. I can see why he might think that -- your hair is not as dark, but your eyes are nearly identical. In his condition, it would have been an easy mistake to make." Mrs. Holmes nodded. "You could pass for Lucy's elder sister, if such a creature existed."

"He corrected himself almost at once. And..." I was remembering something else. "We met Wiggins."

"Oh, yes, I heard all about that." Mrs. Holmes chuckled, adding sugar to her own cup. "He came and told me as soon as you'd vacated the street."

"I remember," said Alex. "He said Elizabeth reminded him of 'the Princess.' Did he mean Lucy?"

"The Princess of Baker Street. His pet name for her since she was a baby."

This was all quite astonishing, and I could scarcely think to drink my tea. Alex smiled, to show she understood how I felt. "Surprises," she said, "are never far away with the League."

I smiled too. "No, indeed they are not," I agreed. "But, Mrs. Holmes, I beg you'll tell us all. Your husband...well, that by itself is an interesting matter. He has never mentioned you, in all the time he was with us."

Alexandra shook her head softly. "He is an amazing man and has provided many insights, and I must admit, his love of music was wonderful." She regarded Charlotte seriously and said, "He was protecting you, wasn't he?"

"As always." Mrs. Holmes lifted the teapot, silently asking if we wanted more, then continued. "Though I daresay he mentioned me more than you think; you just didn't realize it." She glanced at each of us in turn, green eyes full of amusement, and asked, "Did he never bring up Dr. Watson at all?"

"Constantly -- though we've not..." Alex suddenly seemed ready to choke on her tea. "My word! _You're_ Watson!"

I looked from one to the other. "Is that -- that can't be -- what makes you think so, Alex?"

Mrs. Holmes looked for all the world like she was trying not to smile. "Yes, do tell," she said. "What clues did he drop?"

"You just said..." Alexandra looked from myself to Mrs. Holmes. "That he'd've mentioned you -- and Liza, you'd said yourself that he'd always spoken of Watson without ever saying 'he.' It was always 'poor Watson' and 'my dear Watson.' He always spoke of him, but he never actually told us much _about_ him." Her voice faltered slightly. "Tom and I were talking about why we hadn't seen Watson yet - it just seems to make sense..."

"Well, you've deduced it very neatly." Mrs. Holmes finally indulged the smile. "Yes, I am the real identity of Dr. John Watson. That is to say, there is no such gentleman; I wrote the stories."

"How extraordinary," said I, dazed. "And now I understand why Mr. Mycroft Holmes deflected our inquiries about Dr. Watson accompanying us...and why Mrs. Hudson and Wiggins evaded our questions when we came here before our departure. It was all a blind, to shield you."

"Me, and our daughter."

"Ingenious." Alex sounded much like I felt.

"Well, it wasn't always so," Mrs. Holmes continued, settling back with her own tea. "The first story I wrote merely as a gift for my husband, but I wished it professionally printed. I met a very kindly gentleman, my literary agent, who offered some very helpful suggestions, one of which was to add a narrator with whom the readers could more readily identify than with my dear Sherlock. As I personally seemed ill-suited for the part -- even though I have participated in a great many of his investigations much as I have written them -- I created Dr. Watson, based on my late father."

"What a lovely tribute, to your father and your husband." Alex paused, then smiled. "And I see the piano...now it makes sense."

Mrs. Holmes frowned. "What does, my dear?"

"We had a conversation about music a few days ago, he mentioned some concertos he would not likely have played on the violin. Your hands are like mine; he remarked on my hands. And when I told him I play, and that there is a piano in our library, he said he missed the sound of a piano -- the sound of home, he called it."

Her hands trembled slightly around her teacup, but our hostess looked immensely pleased. "He said that?"

The remainder of our visit passed in pleasant conversation, though I never found the courage to ask Mrs. Holmes what I really wanted to know -- that is, what must it be like to be married to a man such as that? The portraits that Watson -- or rather, Charlotte -- paints of Sherlock Holmes in the stories certainly do not indicate that he has settled into domestic tranquility, and yet it was all too plain that this woman loves her husband devotedly. She spoke to us of three years' worth of sorrow, when she had believed him lost over the Reichenbach Fall, and expressed again her gratitude to the League for sparing her another moment of anguish.

There are quite simpy no words to amply describe the incredulity with which our story was received when at last we returned to the _Nautilus_. Five very shocked faces stared at us over the dining table as we recounted it all. "So all this time," said Henry at last, "all those stories...it was his wife?!"

"You sound surprised," said his own wife, just a touch dryly.

He coloured. "I don't mean to imply that a woman couldn't have written them," he amended hastily. "I just never would have suspected it."

"There are few who have," I said. "From what Mrs. Holmes told us, most clients are never even aware of the absence of the doctor; if they question the matter, they are usually told that he is seeing patients and unavailable to participate. Mr. Holmes is extremely adept at providing a believable explanation to those who wonder at the lady's presence."

"But don't the clients whose cases form the stories figure it out?" asked Tom.

"There are a few who know, or guessed, the truth, she says. But Mrs. Holmes is a little sly in her own right." I laughed. "Usually she chooses to tell stories where the client has passed on, or left the country, or else she modifies just enough details to fool the majority. She stays home more than she once did, chiefly on account of their daughter; otherwise she would have been with him on this journey."

"Extraordinary," said Nemo. "It sounds as though she and the detective are well suited."

"I certainly thought so," Alex piped up. "And now I understand something else Mr. Holmes said to me."

We all looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "Well," she said, a bit flustered, "we were speaking about Uncle Rodney, actually. And he said -- how did he word it? Something about how when a woman gives her heart, it is not easily taken back...and she will forgive much in the man she loves. I thought he was talking about Elizabeth, but now I think he must have been talking about his own wife. How she had to forgive him after he disappeared for three years."

I glanced at Rodney. "Don't get any ideas," I said, and everyone laughed.


	15. Buckingham Palace

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: Yes, I promise, there will be an explanation for the whole Charlotte Holmes thing in the FAQ. Sorry for another delay; both my husband and I came down with a very nasty sinus infection at the end of August, which kept me from achieving my self-appointed deadline. We're getting close to the end, though, honest. Prepare yourselves now for what is easily one of the most important chapters in the whole of TPDoEQ.

-----

_13 August 1900_

I am almost shaking as I write this entry.

We had just settled down to breakfast when a courier arrived bearing a message from Mr. Mycroft Holmes. Jaya, the first mate, came to present the little note to the captain, who read its contents aloud to us all.

_My friends, I again congratulate you on the success of your recent mission and thank you most sincerely for the personal favour of its undertaking. I am as good as my word, and I am only too pleased to see you receive the reward which I promised at the outset of your undertaking. Her Imperial Majesty is most anxious to bestow her own thanks upon you for your courage. _

_If it would not be too great an inconvenience, the Sovereign desires that you shall call upon her tomorrow, at half past one, in the Throne Room of Buckingham Palace. Unless you send word by return messenger to the contrary, I shall myself call for you at one o'clock to escort you there._

I cannot imagine anyone actually informing Queen Victoria herself that the meeting she requested would be inconvenient. She is only the most powerful and important woman in the entire world! Of course we shall go; Alex and I can speak of nothing else. She is frightfully nervous, and so am I in truth.

-----

_14 August 1900_

Such a day.

I think we were all most anxious that we should appear to our best advantage before the Queen, though of course Nemo and Mina were most adept at concealing their emotions. Nemo dressed as he normally does -- his usual resplendent, regal self. Our other three gentlemen companions amused us by all wearing nearly identical suits of black; they differed only in the choice of waistcoat colour. Henry's was grey, Rodney's blue, and Tom's green. Mina, perhaps intending to complement her husband's attire, elected to wear the pearl-coloured gown she had purchased for last Christmas; I thought it might be rather too warm, but she naturally is possessed of a different physiology than I myself and perhaps she feels cold more often. Poor Alex was concerned that she had nothing appropriate, but at length she settled on the deep green dress she wore when we dined with the King and Queen of Bohemia. I myself wore a rose-coloured gown; not the one from the ball in America, but a different dress. The colour is the same, but the style of dress is more modest. Still, I paired with it Rodney's mother's locket, which I daresay gratified him.

Mr. Mycroft Holmes called for us at one, as he had promised. He was in rather a small carriage, so rather than attempt to share his conveyance, we merely followed him in Nemo's automobile through the old streets to the royal residence. We entered the building from the south, through what is known as the Ambassador's Entrance, and were guided through the massive conduit called the Principal Corridor, which winds around the large central section -- the Quadrangle. I seem to recall a long, elegant portrait gallery, though I scarcely had the wit to observe the portraits themselves. We passed through elegant mirrored doors into the green drawing room and, from there, into the Throne Room.

I have seen the Throne Room once before. It is not used as throne rooms were in medieval courts, as the seat from which the monarch does most of the business of the realm. Nowadays it is strictly a ceremonial location, and my previous visit was for my formal presentation during my debutante season. It is a sumptuous room, with deep red walls and a magnificent ornate ceiling that seems to arc miles above one's head. An enormous chandelier hangs just before the curtained dais, on which sit a pair of royal thrones; no other furnishings occupy the space. Several guards stood along the sides of the room, unmoving, but obviously ready to spring into action should they be required to defend the life of the Sovereign.

And there she was...Alexandrina Victoria. _Victoria Regina et Imperiatrix_. She seemed larger than life -- imperial and imposing, clad all in black, with a delicate white veil held to her head by a small crown of state. She rose at our entrance, having been seated in one of the thrones on the dais, and save only for Tom and Nemo, we all sank into the lowest bow or curtsey we could manage. Only once we had straightened again did she speak.

"We are pleased you could join us," she said, her voice high-pitched and somewhat querulous. Mr. Holmes moved to her side, and I could see for the first time that the second throne, the one which she had not occupied, held several rolled documents and a large box covered in luxurious blue velvet. "It is our first decree," she continued, and Mr. Holmes picked up three of the documents, "that the individuals known as Captain Nemo, Rodney Skinner, and Dr. Henry Jekyll are hereby fully and formally pardoned for all their past crimes and wrongdoings."

I could see the relief in my dear Rodney's face as he accepted his declaration of pardon from Mr. Holmes. "Secondly," said the Queen, "it is our wish to substantially reward the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen for their continued defence of our kingdom and the entire world from the threat of individuals such as Professor James Moriarty."

Mr. Holmes picked up the velvet box and opened it to reveal five beautiful, shining, silver medals. Hanging from a red, white and blue ribbon, the silver medals (as I would see later) depict Queen Victoria's silhouette on one side and the royal monogram on the other. With trembling hands, she lifted each medal from the box and, one by one, pinned them to the lapels of Nemo, Mina, Henry, Tom, and Rodney. "The Royal Victorian Medal, silver class" she said. "A commendation of our own design, usually given for personal service to the Sovereign or the Royal Family. Today we impart it to you...for personal service to all families, everywhere."

I could have burst from pride, and wept from heartache. For surely a sixth medal should have been awarded, had the recipient only lived long enough to be given the honour.

"We are not unmindful," said the Queen, once she had pinned on Rodney's medal, "of the contributions of the younger, more recent members of the League. To Miss Alexandra Skinner, therefore, we present a gift as well." Mr. Holmes picked up one of the remaining scrolls and passed it to Alex, who was visibly shaking. "We bestow upon you a private box, in the Royal Albert Hall, that you might indulge your love of the musical arts."

"Th-thank you, Your M-Majesty," Alex stammered. She was staring at the paper in her hands. "But...how did...?"

Here, Mr. Holmes spoke up. "Another music lover passed some intelligence to me that it might be the sort of reward which would best suit you," he said, in his privately amused way. "She has a personal fondness for the Royal Albert Hall as well." Of course. Alex and Charlotte Holmes had chattered about their shared love of the piano; it must have been Mr. Holmes' sister-in-law who made the suggestion. Alex was glowing with joy.

"But what of Allan Quatermain?" asked Queen Victoria, suddenly, and the entire room went silent. It was my turn to tremble. "What of that noble hunter, who has served us so well in the past, who spent his last moments eradicating the greatest threat of our modern world?"

She turned on me, then, and I hardly knew how to breathe. How to describe her face; I have no words. There was kindness, and understanding, and a keen knowledge of great sorrow.

"Then too," she said, "his daughter has not conducted herself without honour. We have heard of your medicinal skills, and your courage in Paris and in South America. And there is the matter of a thief's redemption, which we understand to have been partly your doing."

I could not help it -- I laughed. Oh, the horror! _I laughed at Queen Victoria!_ Perhaps she understood it to be chiefly nerves, for she let the ill-timed giggle pass without comment. "In recognition of your contributions to the work of the League," she went on, "and in remembrance of your father's great deeds, we can bestow no greater reward...than this."

Into my hands, then, was placed the final document. It was bound with ribbon, and I was not altogether certain I was permitted to unroll it. This turned out to be quite unnecessary, in the end, for the Queen was continuing to speak. "You now hold the property deed for the manor house which we believe your father to have christened Solomon Manor. It was unjustly stripped from your possession many months prior; we return it to you now. It will be recorded and remembered that the Quatermain family residence is the property of the hunter's daughter, Elizabeth Quatermain, and her descendants into perpetuity."

It took me a little while to truly grasp what she had said, and in the interval she made a few more nice speeches about the League and their bravery, how she hoped that she could always count on them -- on us -- to come to the aid of a world in need of protection. She left us, soon after, and we bowed her out of the room before Mr. Holmes escorted us back to the waiting vehicle. There was no further pomp to the ceremony, and I think perhaps I am not the only one who was left very dazed by the encounter.

I have the document here with me now, and at last the reality has sunk into my mind. Queen Victoria has given me the gift that no one else had the power to give. I can go home.

Or I could, if I were not already here.

_later_

Apparently, the nature of my gift has been weighing on the minds of my friends, for there was something of a subdued nature when I reached the dinner table this evening.

For a time, no one spoke. But at last it was Tom who broke the silence. "Some day, huh?"

We agreed. "So, Elizabeth," he continued, "what are you gonna do now?"

"What do you mean, Tom?"

"He means," said Rodney, "are you going home?"

I was surprised by the line of questioning. "Er...well, I thought it might be nice to go there for the afternoon, perhaps tomorrow. After all, I should look in on the place, shouldn't I? I imagine most of the furnishings are still there, but I can at least put some things back that I was obliged to bring with me." I am mostly thinking of the set of five portraits I took from the drawing room, and how it will be good to hang them there once again -- Father, his two wives, my brother and myself.

"For the afternoon?" Mina repeated. She was somewhat distracted by an attempt to guide a spoon into little Jonathan's mouth.

"Well, yes." I looked round at them all, and then I understood. "Oh! You thought -- you thought I would leave?"

"It did cross our minds," said Nemo, and I turned in his direction. There was a trace of something behind the bearded countenance.

"No," said I, firmly. "No. I am very glad to have the house back in my possession, but I do not see myself living there permanently ever again. Perhaps in the future we might all go there, for a rest of some weeks. But..." I blushed. "But I have no wish to leave the _Nautilus_, so long as I am welcome here."

"If that is the case," said my father-captain, "then you will likely never leave."

Nemo is not given to demonstrations of affection, but I nevertheless left my seat then to embrace him. The dear man -- he has lost one daughter already, and it would seem he was troubled by the prospect of losing another.


	16. Return to Solomon Manor

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: No, not dead. Almost done though.

-----

_15 August 1900_

Today, for the first time in over a year, I set foot inside Solomon Manor.

I went alone in the morning, by carriage, on the condition that the rest of the company should follow in Nemo's automobile and arrive in time for the midday meal. I was and am only too eager to share with those who have shared so generously with me, but I desired a few hours of solitude for my first return visit to the manor, and they seemed to understand this. So I took my leave directly after breakfast, and made my way through London to the property.

Much was as I remembered it. Whoever it was who occupied the premises during my exile (if one may call it that without sounding overly dramatic) made only a very few changes; there has been an extra water closet installed on the third floor, but most of the other changes were merely cosmetic in nature. Some changes in the staff have been made, to be sure, but the butler Laurence is still the head of the household and Amelia still rules over the kitchen.

It was a relatively affectionate reunion. They had been grieved by my forced departure, though the disparity of our social standings made it awkward for them to express as much at the time, and I confess I was distracted by my new friends and the adventure on which we were departing. Still, it was good to see their familiar faces once again. Amelia has acquired two more grandchildren in my absence.

"But will you be staying now, Miss Elizabeth?" she asked me as we walked through the lower rooms. I wished to inspect everything, determine whether I wished to change anything, and she accompanied me.

"No...not continually. I shall return often, and spend time here, but I have a home at sea now and I would not give it up for the world." I explained, then, about my forthcoming nuptials and offered her an abbreviated version of the events of the past year. Of course, I glossed over most of the details, particularly the ones which placed anyone in danger, and goodness knows there are many of those! She expressed congratulations for the engagement and seemed altogether delighted by the prospect of Quatermain grandchildren.

There, at least, I could give her some slight satisfaction. Rodney and I have discussed the matter, and we agree that some of the life of the League is simply too rough and dangerous for small children; Jonathan is an exception, and only because of the supernatural capabilities of his parents. It is likely that I, should the blessed event come to pass, will spend at least the latter months of my confinement at the estate, and return there as often as necessary to keep our children out of harm's way. Mina and Henry may even consent to send Jonathan with us, for he is no less mortal than I. It will be difficult to be apart from my family, particularly in a time of danger, but it is likely to be the best thing for the children and I cannot let my own desire for adventure interfere with doing right by them. Besides, that is all quite in the future; there is no telling when, or even if, such a thing may happen.

My thoughts are wandering, however, and I must return them to my narrative. I was quite alarmed, and really very annoyed if I may be honest, to discover that there was a particularly glaring absence from the front parlour -- my mother's piano was not in its usual place. Though Harry and I were never permitted to touch it, the instrument was always kept tuned and polished and given a place of honour near the large picture window. "Where is it?" I demanded. It was the one thing I had not taken with me when I left that I truly longed to keep, solely for the sake of its provenance, but I feared it would be too great an inconvenience to my host. Had I known then what I know now of Nemo's kindness and disposition, I might have felt more comfortable making the request. In any case, I was further troubled by the news that the interim occupant had wished to _sell_ my mother's prized possession, and that it was only through Laurence's quick actions that it had been salvaged from such a fate. He perusaded the gentleman not to sell it, but merely to place it in storage until such time as he -- that is to say, Laurence himself -- could save up enough money to purchase it. Once this had been done, the would-be seller apparently forgot all about it, so I at once gave orders for the piano to be removed from its place of concealment and returned to its rightful spot.

The other important order of business, for the same room, was to re-hang the five precious portraits which I had taken with me at the time of my departure. How good it was to see them in their place of prominence again! They adorn the south wall, as they had done for some five years prior. All are framed in identical gold ovals, and are quite nearly as high as I am tall. Father hangs in the center; to his left hangs the portrait of his first wife, Alice, and to her left is that of my brother. My mother is to Father's right, and then I am at the far end.

At least, that was always the old arrangement. However, when the others joined me and admired the portraits for the first time, Alex ventured to make a suggestion. "I just can't help thinking," she said, "that it might look just as well or even better if you arrange them a bit differently." I was more than a little hesitant, but I gave her permission to alter the hangings accordingly, and I must admit that I found her idea pleasing. Father and his wives are moved up slightly higher on the wall, and Harry and I have been relocated to hang beneath them, not unlike a sort of family history chart. If one studies the portraits, one may draw in his mind a line from Father to each of his wives, and then another line down to the child produced by each union.

We lunched, then, not in the dining room but out on the large balcony overlooking the gardens. I was disappointed to find that although the flower garden has been dutifully maintained in my absence, my herbs have been allowed to run somewhat wild. They will, to be sure, require several days of care to set them right again, and I said as much. After a moment of thoughtful silence, I continued, "It seems to me that after all which has passed, we are entitled to a bit of rest. Would you be agreeable to remaining here for a spell, before we make our way to Scotland?" I phrased the question in this way that I might learn whether they were all still willing to make that journey.

"I don't see why not." Tom was the first to offer an opinion. "I wouldn't mind having a few days in London when it's not covered in snow. Look around a bit, see the sights."

It was debated, and decided, that we will indeed remain here. I shall have the time to set my gardens in order, and reacquaint myself with the old home; I shall place Alex in charge of showing Tom around London. A bit of a ruse to be sure, but one with the best of intentions.

After the meal was finished, Nemo and the Jekylls decided to return to the ship, to see to some details and collect some personal effects. Nemo wishes to lay in some supplies of provisions while we are docked, but afterward, he says, he will tell the crew to make their way to Scotland.

"They hardly need the extra travelling time," he said, when I asked the reason for the plan, "but my men grow restless in a city port. I shall allow Jaya to put in a course at his leisure, and they will meet us at Edinburgh. From there we may go wherever in Scotland it is that you wish for your marriage celebration."

"I shall talk to Rodney and let you know."

-----

_19 August 1900_

We have all been keeping suitably busy since we took up temporary residence here. I have my gardens to manage and my herbs to harvest; I have also been teaching Rodney the paths of our old hedge maze, which dates back to the Tudor era according to the history of the manor house. Alex and Tom do much sightseeing together and, if I am not wholly mistaken, they are becoming close indeed. I have instructed my friends to treat my home as if it were there own, and they make great use of the library, the billiard room, and -- in little Jonathan's case -- the bedroom which was mine as a child, which still holds some of my old toys. Alex, with my blessing, has given my mother's piano such a playing as it has not had in my entire lifetime.

We have been busy with other things too, of course, chiefly the planning of the wedding. After some discussion, Rodney and I have decided to wed in Edinburgh itself. Perhaps we are simply too impatient to consider relocating after we have reunited with the _Nautilus_. But Edinburgh is the heart of Scotland, and though we are and always will be very proudly English, we are no less proud of our mutual Scotch heritage. Then too, in the bustling city we should have no difficulty procuring the kilts for the gentlemen, nor the tartan sashes for the ladies. I have communicated this plan to Nemo and also, in a note, to Charlotte Holmes; I have my sincere doubts that the Holmeses would consent to travel with us and attend the wedding, but I wished them to know that they are welcome.


	17. Another Hunter's Legacy

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

-----

_21 August 1900_

How can I have forgotten that this time would come? It seems absurd to me that I should lose track of such a development, and yet such was the case.

I was taking a stroll with Nemo; Rodney and Tom had gone off together with Alex, so my foster father and I were taking a turn through the hedge maze. I was explaining to him that the maze is patterned after one which had existed in the Tudor era, though the estate as it exists now does not have quite that old of a history, and we walked all the way to the fountain at the center. We had just turned around to begin going back -- I preferred that to crossing the second half of the maze, which would then require us to walk a full half-mile back to the house proper -- when I heard a voice calling for me. 

"I'm here," I called back, "but you'll need to give me time to exit the maze. I trust there is no urgency?"

"No, ma'am, nothing so very urgent."

It is fortunate that, when I first came to live at the manor with my father and brother, Harry insisted that I must learn the quickest passages through the maze. I have never forgotten my lessons with him, and they have served me in good stead on more than one occasion. Nemo and I made our return trip in more of a hasty fashion than the leisurely pace we had set on the start of the walk, and in short order we emerged from the hedges to discover one of the newer maids, Annie is her name, waiting with a paper bundle.

"If you please, ma'am, this just came by courier." She passed the sheets to me, bobbed a curtsey, and departed.

I unfolded the pages and was somewhat amused by their contents. It was a letter from my aunt's solicitor, James Finch, Esq., and it ran in this way.

_My dear Miss Quatermain,_

As you may recall, I was and am the executor of the estate belonging to your late aunt, Miss Adelaide Hunter. You know, of course, that you were the sole heir to your aunt's property, but at the time of her passing you were still in your minority and, according to the terms of your aunt's will and testament, your inheritance was to be held in trust until you attained the age of twenty-one or were married, whichever came first. I have received no information indicating that you are as yet married; however, you will in several days mark your twenty-first birthday and will be of age to receive your aunt's legacy. 

It was Miss Hunter's wish that the arrangements be made some weeks in advance of your birthday, that you might have time to begin making any necessary arrangements for travel or sale. Enclosed you will find all of the documentation pertaining to the family home in Devonshire, which has been maintained through the management of the trust, and also your aunt's financial bequests. If I may be of further assistance in the administration of the estate, please feel free to contact me. 

I remain faithfully yours, e&.

"So it would seem," said I to Nemo, with a laugh, once I had finished relating the particulars, "that in a very short space of time I have gone from having what could be regarded as no home at all to more homes than I can possibly wish."

"You were never without a home," he reminded me in a playful sort of sternness. "But what shall you do with this new property? The financial windfall will be an asset to you, but you were already somewhat troubled by the amount of time you will be spending away from your father's house."

"You're quite right," I agreed. "This will require some thinking."

It also required discussion with the man with whom I am about to forge an unbreakable alliance. When the gentlemen and Alex returned, I absconded with my bridegroom for another walk through the hedge maze, during the which I outlined the situation for his review.

"Lord." He laughed, scratching his hand through red curls and making them rumple. "You aren't hiding any other legacies from me, are you, Bess? I'm starting to think people'll take me for a fortune hunter after we're married."

"They wouldn't dare," I replied, composedly. "Besides, such things are no one's business but ours. To answer your query, however, I know of no other property destined to fall my way. But whatever will we do with this one, Rodney? We'd only just settled on how to maintain the London manor without too great an inconvenience to the staff."

"I know. Tell me about the Devon place."

"Well, it's nowhere near as large as this, of course." I had to think a bit, for it has been nearly six years since I laid eyes on the old home. It was the house in which Aunt Adelaide and my mother were raised, and they were, as I am now, the last members of the Hunter family. The house descends to me because there is no other relation to whom it can be reasonably passed; I daresay I have a few distant cousins on that side, but none whom I can ever recall having met. I am all that remains of not one but two direct bloodlines, which is an odd thing to contemplate. "The gardens are larger, because Aunt was an herbalist, as I am; she taught me the art. The house itself, however, is smaller. Seven bedrooms, if I remember correctly, and two parlours."

"A regular cottage." Blue eyes laughed at me.

"I won't pretend I grew up poor. But now I am ridiculously wealthy, and I wish I could just give the house in Devonshire to some...one..." I write the words in this way, for this is approximately how I spoke them; my voice slowed as my mind raced, and I had a splendid thought. "Rodney, suppose I give it to Alexandra?"

"To Alex?!"

"Not now, of course. But the time will surely come when she will marry, or otherwise want to establish a household of her own. Suppose I maintain the property in Devonshire until then, and give it to her?"

"That's generous...are you sure?"

"She's to be my niece too, you know," said I with a laugh. "That makes her my family. The house should stay in the family." With a conspiratorial smile, I added, "And if she fulfills our secret hopes and marries Tom, so much the better. It will stay in the family twice over."

-----

_27 August 1900_

There are some final details to be attended to before we may, at last, take our leave of Solomon Manor. Thanks largely to the assistance of Henry, who surprises me somewhat with his ready grasp of matters financial, I have made all the necessary arrangements for the maintenance of both the London and the Devonshire property. I have contacted Aunt's solicitor and explained the general nature of my intentions as regards the Hunter estate, and he will see to it that the home is tenanted by respectable persons until such time as I notify him that it will be needed for the residence of my niece. My mother's wedding gown has been aired and pressed and altered to fit her daughter, and is now ready for that auspicious occasion when it will again adorn a happy bride.

And so very soon, at last, we make our way northward.

We do not travel by carriage, as we had originally intended, but by rail. I was puzzled by this development, and sought the explanation from Nemo. "We have discussed it," he said, and by _we_ I know he means the original members of the League. "We still plan to visit the monoliths at Stonehenge, but this will bring the journey to a swifter conclusion. Already your wedding day has been postponed too long for your liking; I know that much." He smiled at my blush, then caught my hand and pressed it gently. "We will not trouble you to wait for as long as it would take us to travel by carriage. Your happiness, and that of our impudent friend, is of too great an import to any of us to wish its delay any further."

"You are very good to me," I told him. "You have been from the first time we met." My throat felt constricted by the considerable affection I felt for them all, and particularly him at that moment. "It has been an honour to live as your daughter."

I have never had a mother, but no woman in England can possibly have more cause than I to take pride in _both_ of her fathers.

-----

_28 August 1900_

Today, Rodney and I realized that we had neglected to impart one aspect of our wedding plans to our attendants. So after the morning meal, while we continued to prepare for our travel, we carefully broke the news to the gentlemen that Rodney intends to wear a kilt and desires both of his groomsmen to do likewise.

Henry was little troubled by it; Tom was an altogether different matter, and Alex and I were hard pressed not to laugh at his immediate response.

"You want me to wear a _skirt_?!"

"A kilt," Rodney corrected him, smiling. "In the Blackwatch tartan -- anyone's allowed to wear that."

"You gotta be kidding me." Tom looked at me for help. "This is a joke, right, Elizabeth?"

"No joke, Tom," I replied with forced composure. "Alex and Mina and I will also be in tartan. I will have a sash in the tartan of my Scottish ancestors, and they will wear traditional dresses. Mina will wear Blackwatch and Alex will wear the Skinner family tartan, as will her uncle."

He leaned back in his seat and pressed his fingers to his eyes, as though staving off a headache. We all exchanged glances, wondering if perhaps we were asking too much of him. But abruptly he laughed, shaking his head and lowering his hands.

"Am I glad no one back in Missouri will see this," he said, fixing us all with a look that was half exasperated, half amused. "I'd only do this for you, you know."


	18. Tartans, Time, and TwentyOne

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

-----

_30 August 1900_

At last we are on our way! I write this from the rail car as we speedily travel northwest from London, having made our departure from Victoria Station. 

Our first stop, of course, will be the great monuments at Stonehenge, on the Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire County. I have been there before, though not in recent years; my brother, when I was still living most of the year in Devonshire, developed an odd passion for wishing to see them, and on one of my holidays home persuaded me to join him on the excursion. It will be slightly odd to be viewing them again with my 'new' brother, but at the same time it seems perfectly reasonable that I should do so.

I must confess, if only to this diary, that I have not been an overly patient individual in recent weeks. To be sure, it has been a great comfort to be again in my family home, surrounded by those living whom I hold most dear, but at the same time I have felt disquieted. I think that I have acquired a small portion of Nemo's preference for the sea; in odd moments I have found myself missing the _Nautilus_ keenly. And to be sure, I am most anxious for my wedding-day to arrive. In that, at least, I have an equally impatient partner.

Rodney is no more given to romantic expression than he ever was, or at any rate, not seriously. On occasion he will indulge in some playful, fanciful means of expressing himself, such as dramatically remarking on 'how long he must wait until I make him the happiest of men.' These little taunts would be a bit hurtful, except that there is a light in his eyes when he says them which tells me that he is not _entirely_ joking. He too has felt the burden of the delay, and regretted that we must place duty before desire.

At least at Solomon Manor we had plenty of opportunity to be alone together, compared with the previous dearth of chances to do so. With Alex showing Tom the city, the Jekylls absorbed in the demands of parenthood, and the house itself providing amusement for all in its ample supply of books and music and games, I found I had little obligation as hostess. It was, therefore, a genuine treat to be able to walk together in hedge and forest, or to have him trail after me as I worked in the gardens. Though I am in no way inclined to give up my home at sea if it can be at all avoided, this was a pleasant taste of the happy domestic scene we could paint for ourselves if circumstance enforced it.

-----

_31 August 1900_

Today was Stonehenge, and it was much as I remembered it...a group of boulders.

I am satirical, of course. The great attraction of Stonehenge is its mysterious origin. According to the archaeological findings I have read on the matter, it is believed to have been constructed over a lengthy period of time between the years 2800 and 1800 B.C. No one knows quite who was responsible for the arrangement of the rocks, which is reputed to have great astronomical significance. Some feel it was the Druids, those ancient Celtic priests who occupied England before the Normans. Some believe it was the ancient Greeks, while others have suggested it may have been the people of the lost continent Atlantis. I'm sure I have no idea what to think, although the experiences of this past year alone have taught me that absolutely nothing is out of the realm of possibility. 

We stood at a respectful distance from the monoliths, not wishing to get too close. The government allows no one to draw near enough to touch the stones, lest there be some irreparable damage done. It was a warm day, though rather cloudy.

I find it difficult to put into words how I felt as we surveyed Stonehenge. There seemed to be a constant prickling on the back of my neck, though the wind was very slight. I will not say that I heard voices or experienced visions, or anything of the sort; but there was a strange sensation there all the same. The air seemed almost electric, somehow; the site of the monument is very peculiarly charged, as though not entirely of this world. To distract myself from such musings, I lifted my head and studied the cloud formations in the sky. It was rather haunting, for the longer I looked, the more I seemed to perceive in the clouds. The patches of light and dark moving in the faint wind formed what looked to be almost like faces.

I hasten to add to these observations that whatever else I felt this afternoon, I had no fear whatsoever. There may well be some sort of spirit or energy to the place, but it is not malevolent. I shivered a bit from the eerie sensations of which I was aware, but at no time did I sense anything remotely like danger. I would not say I felt altogether _welcomed_ there, but nothing seemed to be urging us to leave. Certainly it was a friendlier place than Macchu Picchu turned out to be.

We returned to the rail station where we had left our train, and sat with our belongings while we waited to board the next one. Henry arranged for us to have some tea as we clustered around a little table, and we all looked at one another in some silence. Finally, Tom spoke.

"That place was pretty strange," he said, "and I've seen some strange places. I saw it before, but it's not the same when you're looking down from a balloon. Kind of gave me the creeps, really...felt like there was something _there_."

"I felt it too," I cried. I was so relieved it wasn't only me.

"I did also," Alex admitted.

We lapsed, then, into a discussion of the facts I have enumerated above, and our individual sensations. I told them about the faces in the clouds, which no one else had observed, and Mina surprised us all with an observation of her own. "The ground beneath my feet seemed to be humming," she said. "I could feel it...very light reverberations." It must of course be remembered that Mina's senses far surpass those of anyone else in our party, except perhaps Edward.

That prompts me to realize that there has been no outward comment from Edward in what strikes me as a very long time. Of course I know better than to expect to see him often, but he has rarely even been mentioned in passing of late. I have no doubt that he is still there, but perhaps he has grown comparitively quiet in light of the contentment both he and Henry are privileged to know with their wife.

-----

_1 September 1900_

We are now speeding away from Salisbury, and the enigma of Stonehenge. Perhaps someday we might return and endeavor to solve its mysteries; I think such a thing might appeal to Nemo. But that particular puzzle may be beyond even our collected faculties (to which, I hasten to add, I contribute very little), and I daresay it is much more likely that we will continue with our explorations, much as we have done up to this time.

The institution of the railway system has rendered England to be even smaller than nature intended. It will not take us days of travel, as it did to journey from Washington to Tom's hometown in Missouri, but rather will bring us up to Edinburgh in what could be considered a short amount of time. We anticipate arriving there on the morning of the third. Assuming all goes as we anticipate, concerning the acquisition of wedding clothes and making other arrangements, I expect to adopt the name of Skinner within a week of my twenty-first birthday.

Elizabeth Skinner. It has a satisfactory ring to it, in my own ears if no one else's.

My only complaint about traveling via train is that there is little opportunity to stretch one's legs. True, we enjoy a periodic rest from it when we reach a station where we must change trains; sometimes the wait for the next train is above a quarter of an hour, and Alex and I amuse ourselves in a little shop or we all partake of some refreshment. Most of the time, however, one must remain in one's seat. We travel quite comfortably, however, I must acknowledge; Nemo will not suffer us to ride in anything but a first-class car. We pass the hours with conversation and card games, in largest part.

-----

_3 September 1900_

True to what I wrote two days ago, we made our arrival in Edinburgh this morning.

What a truly splendid place Scotland is! I find it hard to describe the sensation it gives me. England is rather...orderly. Scotland is wild and untamed. There is a sense of freedom in the air, and the mist which often clings to the ground leaves it feeling as though it is all new-scrubbed and fresh. To reach the city we had to pass rugged and craggy hills, ruins of castles, and endlessly green fields dotted with sheep. In some respects it reminds me very much of my girlhood in Devonshire, but Scotland's atmosphere has a kind of quiet ferocity which tranquil Devonshire would never think to possess.

The _Nautilus_ awaited us in port, and we were welcomed aboard by the crew, who seemed very happy to have us back. If nothing else, they are pleased to have Nemo back. We see no cause to incur the expense of a hotel when the most excellent accomodations in the world are available to us as our own home, and so I write this from the familiar environs of my own quarters.

I was surprised when Jaya sought me out almost at once, and gave me a small smile. "Missee Sahib," he greeted me, "we have received messages in your absence."

"Messages...?"

He handed to Nemo a small, slightly thick packet of pages. The captain perused these briefly, and gave a chuckle. "Ah," said he, and turned toward myself and Rodney. "We thought it might please you to invite some of our friends from our different adventures to join us for your wedding...I trust you are not offended by the surprise."

"What friends?" Rodney sounded perplexed.

"Dr. Draper, for one." Nemo's dark eyes sparkled.

I exchanged a startled look with my betrothed, and then we both laughed. I was beginning to understand what he meant. "Very well, who else has sent us a message?" I asked.

"It would appear that they all have declined with regrets," he continued, looking through the papers. "But I am holding the very best wishes to you both from Dr. Draper, and Dr. Howard Carter, and Messrs. Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, and Mrs. Holmes also."

"That is exceedingly kind of them, I'm sure. And it was very good of you to have invited them," said I. It would have been pleasant to see any of them. I will not pretend, however, that I am very sorry they cannot join us. I do not want an ostentatious and grand occasion for my wedding; I only wish to have my family with me. They are all here, on the ship, and that will more than satisfy.

-----

_6 September 1900_

Twenty-one! How very old that is, or so it seems to me. 

At breakfast, my dear Tom elected to tease me by reminding me how I spent my last birthday -- sitting at his bedside, nursing him through the injuries he sustained when he was thrown from the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral. "I aim to keep both feet on the ground this year," he said.

This was not an entirely accurate object, however, for he was obliged to step up onto the tailor's stool this afternoon; he and Henry accompanied Rodney to be fitted for their kilts. Mina and Alex and I had a similar appointment at the dressmaker's, and I must say that Alex cuts a particularly smart figure in her clan tartan. Her hair fairly glows, and the black and red of the tartan suit her complexion admirably; she looks like a true Scotchwoman. The Blackwatch looks very well on Mina, but in all the time I have known her, I have never seen her wear anything in which she did not look superb.

The sash I will wear over my wedding dress is that of my grandmother's clan, as I have mentioned. The Campbell tartan is blue and green, as is the Blackwatch that Mina, Henry and Tom will all wear, though the two tartans are of different pattern and shading. (I do not understand why a blue and green tartan would be called Blackwatch.) It occurs to me, having seen the three wedding tartans piled together on a chair at the dressmaker's, that we will look somewhat uncoordinated. No matter; we will look very well nonetheless, I am sure. Nemo, of course, will wear his usual magnificent garments, though I am given to understand that the blue fabric will be trimmed in gold accoutrements rather than silver, to accentuate both the festive nature of the day and his position as honorary father of the bride.

After we had all returned to the ship, Rodney announced that he had made a detour to Edinburgh Cathedral, and arranged for us to have use of the premises for one hour on the tenth of September.

"The hardest part," he said, "was explaining to the priest about Nemo giving the bride away. I think he was a little confused. Gave me no fuss, though; shouldn't be a problem."

There was a celebratory little cake with our tea, in honour of the occasion, and my health was toasted. I am not sure I heard half of the kind wishes I received, however, for I was rather dazed by the news that my wedding-day is only four days off. By this time on Monday, I shall be a married woman.

I blush to note a few more particulars. From the cathedral we will return by a pair of carriages to the _Nautilus_, to change into travelling clothes and collect a few articles. Tom will then convey us in the automobile (which I am astonished Nemo is permitting, as I have heard that Tom destroyed the earlier model of the vehicle, though not entirely through his own fault) to the lodgings Rodney has procured for our use for a week. Just as only Nemo was aware of where the Jekylls spent their wedding night, only Tom is to know our destination; a silly tradition in my estimation, but it is not for me to criticize. We will remain there for the seven days, adjusting to the notion that we are indeed married, and then return at our leisure to the ship. By that time, all of Rodney's personal effects will have been relocated to my quarters, and we will resume our world travels to wherever the League judges we should next venture.


	19. The Bells of St Giles

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, Vol. V: Tartan Holiday**

by Lady Norbert

A/N: If you're surprised by all the updates, imagine how I feel. I never thought I'd wipe out the rest of the story in one night. But here we are at the end of all things...goodbye, farewell, and amen.

-----

_9 September 1900_

Today I experienced the grandeur of Edinburgh Cathedral, which is fortunate, since I have my doubts about whether I will remember two minutes together during tomorrow's events. I did have the wit to observe that a worship service in the Church of Scotland is not, in the most general sense, altogether different from worship in the Church of England.

It is properly called St. Giles' Cathedral of Edinburgh, to be accurate. It is a marvelous building of the Gothic style, and I hardly know how to find words that will properly describe it. Would that I had the means to have paintings done of all its grandeur! But I will try my best. The cathedral has a very medieval feel to it, being made primarily of grey and brown stone; it is not hard to appreciate its age -- the oldest parts of the cathedral date from the year 1120. There are a number of small chapels and worship sites; those who have been knighted in the Order of the Thistle are permitted the use of a particular set of stalls for kneeling in prayer. There are, as in most cathedrals, dozens and dozens of exquisite stained glass windows, and I was particularly taken with an enormous one depicting the Day of Pentecost.

We are to be married, tomorrow afternoon, in the Thistle Chapel. This is a very nearly round chapel, with high vaulting ceilings and a great deal of wood and stone carving, both within and just without. As might be expected, much of the carving gives the appearance that thistles grow out of the ceiling.

_We are to be married tomorrow afternoon._

I can scarce believe it. This is the second night in my life when I have been unable to sleep because of my wedding the next day, though that first incident is perhaps best forgotten. And yet I cannot forget it, if for no other reason than the events of St. Petersburg and the attentions of Benjamin Everett have had an indelible effect on my relationship with the man I will soon call my husband. I can hardly say I am grateful for what transpired in the spring, since it kept us apart even longer than would have otherwise been the case, but I can say that I do not wholly regret the situation. In its own strange way, I think it has caused the bond between myself and Rodney to be stronger.

_later_

I was obliged to cease writing for a time, for Alex came to sit with me and keep me company. As it was on my mind, and I do not recall ever having told her the story before, I regaled her with the saga of the St. Petersburg wedding. She heard some of it while Mr. Sherlock Holmes was among us, for it came up while we recounted the League's adventures for him, but as it was still relatively fresh and painful to us, we did not go into great detail. Tonight, however, I was prepared to tell the whole story, and so I did. She sat openmouthed on my bed, each of us in our dressing gowns, while I braided her long hair.

"You and Uncle Rodney have certainly been -- to borrow a phrase from Tom -- 'through the wringer,'" she said at length.

"We have," I agreed. "But it makes me feel ever more secure that we really belong together."

"Oh, I know that you do," she said. "I've known that since he first came to my little flat in London. When he spoke of you...there was so much warmth. So much apparent love. He idolizes you, Liza."

"He is my hero," said I, fondly. "You can't begin to know how many times he has saved my life." I hesitated. "I would not extend the privilege to anyone else, except your uncle himself," I continued, "but while we are gone for the coming week, perhaps you would like to read my diary from the past year. Then you can see for yourself why it is _I_ who should rightfully idolize _him_."

"I would dearly love that -- are you certain you don't mind?"

"Not for you, no. I think that you should know these things." I will not, of course, show her this most recent volume of the diary, where I speculate about the possibility of Alex falling in love with Tom and he with her. Besides, it will be accompanying me on the honeymoon. But the earlier entries, in the last two bound diaries, she is certainly welcome to read. Smiling at the thought, I added, "It may amuse you to find that in the earliest days of my acquaintance with the League, I was rather more drawn to Tom."

"Were you?" Her tone was excessively casual, and I checked my laughter.

"Oh, yes. He is, after all, absurdly handsome, and charming in his way. And we are just the same age. Then too, he and my father thought very highly of one another, and that had some weight with me."

"Then how did you come to love Uncle instead?"

"Time changed things for all of us. My attraction to Tom was not mutual, so it had sufficient opportunity to cool and fade. I love him dearly, but not the way I love your uncle. _That_ came into being before I ever even understood it was there; at the same moment I realized that I loved him, I also realized that he loved me. But he was afraid to speak for a long time, and I dared not say a word myself, so we were an endless source of amusement and exasperation for the others." At this, we both laughed.

"Well..." she began. I looked at her enquiringly, having tied off the end of her braid, and wondered if a confession was about to emerge. "Well," she said again, "I...can understand...how Tom might turn your head. Really, I'm surprised he doesn't turn more heads." She clasped her hands round her knees and looked at me, almost imploringly. "He likes music."

"Does he?" It was my turn for excessively casual tones.

"Oh, yes. He doesn't play, you know, but he clearly enjoys listening. And I think he's more educated about it than he seems -- he correctly identified Beethoven when I played yesterday, and Tchaikovsky the day before that."

I do not quite dare to tell Alex precisely my thoughts on the matter, but I suspect the music is not the only thing Tom is studying.

-----

_10 September 1900_

As I anticipated, today was such a flurry of activity that it is a true test of will to try and collect my thoughts in order to corral them on paper. My memory is so incomplete! But Alex has promised that, by the time we return from our weeklong holiday, they will have written together an accounting of the entire day for me, and I shall paste it here into my diary. I have little doubt that it will be a much more satisfactory report than anything I would be able to cobble together this evening.

We are now at the hotel where we will spend the week, and our suite is very rustic and charming. The walls are paneled in a knotty pine, and the furnishings are very comfortable but a touch spartan. Everything appears to have been carved by hand, which gives it a pleasantly homey feel. I took perhaps a little too much delight in watching Rodney pen our names into the guest register when we arrived. _Mr. and Mrs. R. A. Skinner._ He is at present downstairs, seeing to details about dinner and such, giving me some privacy for unpacking and, of course, updating this diary. But my head whirls so, I cannot think to write any longer. I shall instead leave the rest of this volume empty; there are only five pages left until I need to start a new one, and that is entirely appropriate, for it means that I shall start recording my new life in a new diary. The remaining pages in this book will be saved for Alex's accounting.

-----

I feel a bit strange writing Elizabeth's diary for her, but I will do my best. 

I couldn't honestly say whether she slept a wink all night, but she looked reasonably well rested when I came to her room. Of course she and Uncle Rodney couldn't see each other before the ceremony, so I fetched breakfast and we ate together in her cabin. Really, I didn't think she seemed too anxious, though she probably was more than I realized. 

Since we were all going to be in the wedding, Mina and Henry decided they would leave Jonathan here on the ship with some of the crew to watch him. It shows an admirable amount of trust in Nemo's men, I think. The Scottish dresses that Elizabeth wanted Mina and me to wear are beautiful, but a little complicated, so we decided to dress in the same room in order to help one another. Once we were in our tartans, we helped Elizabeth into _her_ dress, which is truly a work of art. She told us it was her mother's dress; it's almost completely made of white satin, and trimmed in Brussels lace. Over that was the Campbell tartan sash, which has blue in it, so that took care of something old and something blue. She had a new lace veil on her curls, held in place with tiny diamond combs that had also been her mother's, and she borrowed a pair of gloves from Mina. I told her she was beautiful and for once, she didn't argue with me.

Sorry, 'Auntie,' but you always argue.

Nemo came soon after we were ready, and I thought he was going to cry when he saw her. He seemed a little teary-eyed. He recovered quickly, though, and told us that the gentlemen were ready to leave. I excused myself and made my way to the stateroom, wanting to wish Uncle Rodney good luck before the ceremony, but I came to a halt just outside the door. I could hear them talking and laughing, and then Tom's voice rang out very clearly.

"I kind of like this kilt thing...I've got a nice refreshing breeze happening."

I could hardly breathe for trying not to laugh, and gave up on my intention to speak with my uncle before the wedding. Instead, I made my way back to Elizabeth's room, where we all waited impatiently until Jaya came to say that Uncle and the other men had gone on ahead to the cathedral, so we could leave at any time. They were in one carriage and we would go in another; when we came back, Uncle and my new aunt would be in the first carriage and the rest of us in the second. So out we went. I was very glad to see the weather was fine, if breezy. I think Elizabeth was trembling; we were all carrying bouquets of white roses, and hers seemed to shake in a way that had nothing to do with the carriage ride.

We made our way through the breathtaking cathedral and stood outside the Thistle Chapel. I heard the organ playing Pachelbel's _Canon_, which I always think is a perfect piece for a wedding. It's so full of hope. Mina went in first, gliding down the short center aisle to the left of the altar, and then I followed shortly thereafter. The men all looked very dashing, though I can't help thinking Tom looked especially grand. The Blackwatch tartan looked so well with his colouring. Uncle Rodney beamed at me as I stood next to Mina, but his attention was very quickly drawn to his arriving bride. I heard him give a little gasp, as though he suddenly forgot how to breathe, and it seemed as if _he_ were trembling as well. 

Elizabeth and Nemo reached the altar and the ceremony began. I can't relate too much of this, unfortunately, because the minister's brogue was so thick that he was difficult to understand. But I watched Nemo take Elizabeth's hand and place it in Uncle's, then move to stand at the right with the other groomsmen. After a while, the officiant asked Uncle Rodney to repeat the vows, and then Elizabeth also repeated them. Henry handed Uncle a simple gold ring, which is all Elizabeth wanted, and he slipped it onto her finger. 

I couldn't really see Elizabeth, as she had her back to me, but I was in a wonderful position to watch my uncle's face. I have never seen anyone's eyes glow with happiness like that.

I could understand one thing the minister said, however, and it happened so suddenly that I almost missed it. "Ye may kiss the bride." Uncle Rodney lifted up that delicate veil and put it carefully behind her, then dipped his head and kissed his wife. Overhead, all anyone could hear was the ringing of the heavy church bells. They made such a joyful clamor, as if they also shared in the spirit of the occasion.

Henry contrived to switch places with Tom, I suppose so he could walk out with Mina. My aunt and uncle signed their names in the church register, with Elizabeth styling herself _Elizabeth Grace Quatermain_ for the last time. Then she took his arm, smiling so brightly she might outshine the sun, and they led the way out of the chapel. I took Tom's arm and we followed, with Henry and Mina behind us and Nemo bringing up the rear. We very nearly chased them out of the west entrance to the street, where the two pretty little landaus stood waiting, each drawn by grey horses. Some people were milling about, watching the spectacle, as Uncle helped his new wife into the first carriage. She stood up and threw her bouquet to me, and I could not help blushing when I saw Tom looking at me.

I would not have written that, Auntie dear, except you made me swear to write down everything.

She sat back down then, and they both turned in their seats to wave back at us and at anyone else who was nearby. I never saw two people more radiant with joy. As the landau started forward, they turned away from us and toward each other, and I knew that their hands were tightly entwined. By the time you read this, Elizabeth, you will have heard it already; your and Uncle's complete happiness inspired me to go to the piano the day after you left for your holiday, and compose a celebratory march in your honour.

We followed the newlyweds back to the _Nautilus_, where I helped Elizabeth out of her wedding gown and into the pale green dress she wanted to wear for the rest of the day. She was still shaking, but now I understood that she was trembling with joy, not fear or nerves. She embraced me warmly before we joined the others; Uncle had exchanged his kilt for the sort of outfit he wears every day. While Elizabeth traded affectionate farewells with the others, he kissed my cheek and told me how glad he was I had been with them. Then they were off, waving furiously through the rear window of the automobile as Tom drove away, and we all laughed and cried and hardly knew what to do with ourselves for how happy we all were. 

We miss you and we love you and we will be glad to have you back again. We are family now, and I can't say how much gladness that brings me. I am more blessed than I ever dreamed I'd be, my dear friend -- now my aunt, but virtually my sister.


	20. The Final FAQ

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, volume V: Author's notes and acknowledgements**

It's so strange to know I'm doing this for the last time! (In theory, at least...)

**About this whole sordid plot**

_Why did this volume take more than two years to complete, when you wrote the other four in under a year combined?_

Believe me, it wasn't on purpose, and I feel bad about it. There were two main reasons, one of which I mentioned in the author's notes on some chapters. I lost both of my grandparents in 2006, within six months of each other. My grandmother had been sick for a long time, but my grandfather died very suddenly and unexpectedly. I was close to both of them and especially to him, so when he died I was pretty crushed. I was in a depression for a long time; there was a stretch of several months where I no longer took pleasure in many things I once enjoyed, most particularly writing. 

The other reason, which I don't talk about much, is that I have a chronic illness and my health sometimes interferes with my ability to spend time on a computer.

_Are the places they visited in Germany real?_

Most of them, yes. St. Boniface's Abbey, the Bayerischer Hof, and of course Neuschwanstein are all quite real. King Wilhelm and Queen Clothilde's summer palace, not so much.

_Have you actually been to Germany/England/Scotland?_

I've never left North America, though I desperately want to go to Europe. My information about the places I describe comes from the internet. My description of Elizabeth's feelings when she was at Stonehenge, however, are based on what my late grandfather told me about his experiences when he was there.

_What is brain fever?_

Brain fever is more commonly known today as encephalitis. However, in the Victorian era, the term 'brain fever' was generally applied to any unknown illness which featured a life-threatening fever and head pain. To my mind, Sherlock Holmes had a form of encephalitis.

_What exactly happened to Sherlock Holmes?_

After he settled the business concerning the King's relative, he headed back on his intended route home. He's a master of quick travel, and in disguise to boot, so he didn't think much about taking a day or two to detour down into Bavaria and have a look at King Ludwig's dream; I imagine he's seen it before, during the Great Hiatus (see below), but I know I wouldn't consider one visit to be nearly enough. But when he was near the castle, he contracted encephalitis and almost certainly would have died if he hadn't been given into the care of the kindly monks at St. Boniface's. Since they had no idea who their famous patient actually was, they had no way of sending word to his family back in England about what had happened to him.

_What is all this about Charlotte and Dr. Watson and...just explain, please._

Right, right. Okay, back when I started volume V, I mentioned that I would also be working on another project which would get explained eventually. That project is/was Charlotte's story. I used to work in an office where I would listen to a lot of books on audio CD, and I have the entire Sherlock Holmes canon; while I would listen to these stories, I somehow came to see Dr. Watson as a woman instead of a man. I think it's because Dr. Watson always uses first-person point of view, and I'm a woman myself; so when I would hear the stories, I would see a female figure in Watson's place. Point is, that's where Charlotte originated. I thought, wouldn't it be a kick to write a Holmes story in which Watson was actually Holmes's wife? And the more I thought about it, the more it actually sort of made sense. If you read the Holmes stories with the view that the character of Watson is actually a pseudonym for the woman Holmes married, it casts a very different and quite interesting shade on many of his actions.

I really had been working very hard on this (ask my proofreaders -- I got to chapter ten), but as with Elizabeth's diary, the Charlotte story suffered drastically following the death of my grandfather. In fact, Charlotte's story was actually hit harder than Elizabeth's, because my grandfather had been a Sherlock Holmes fan too. I'm hoping to still finish it, though, as it's been quite well-received by those who have read it thus far. I would really like to publish it as an actual novel; in fact, it's supposed to be a trilogy, but I'm only committing myself to the first book right now. However, if I end up not finding a publisher willing to print it, you will all get to read it here at FFN as an epic fanfiction.

One way or another, Charlotte's story will be made available to read sooner or later. If you've liked Elizabeth, there is every prospect that you will like Charlotte, so I hope you'll be willing to give her the chance you've so graciously given Bess. In the event that it is published as a book, there will be an announcement in my profile and also on my webpage, which you can access from said profile.

_Who's the literary agent she mentions?_

Well, players of the Great Game...oh, I'd better explain that first. There are generally two camps of Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts. One camp just accepts them at face value, as being the fictional stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The other camp likes to play what's known as the Great Game, and the mindset they adopt is that Dr. Watson was a real person, the stories are true, and Doyle was only his literary agent -- the go-between who took Watson's stories to the publisher. For the purposes of Charlotte's story, I play the game; the rest of the time, I haven't decided if I do or not.

_And why did Holmes think Elizabeth was Lucy?_

Like Elizabeth, Lucy has dark hair and grey eyes; this was not planned, incidentally, it's just that it turned out that Elizabeth's coloring is similar to that of Sherlock Holmes, and Lucy looks like her father. Elizabeth, to Holmes's weary eyes, certainly could resemble an older version of his little girl, and he'd been so rattled by his illness that it was an easy mistake for him to make at first. The shock achieved the necessary goal of rejuvenating his memory, though. I had originally planned on having Mina present, and Holmes mistaking Mina for Irene Adler; I changed my mind when it occurred to me that this would be a great way to introduce Elizabeth's loyal readers to the other Victorian woman who has rented space in my brain.

_Why was Mycroft Holmes acting all suspicious and wary on the subject of Dr. Watson?_

Mycroft is very protective of his sister-in-law, even moreso of his niece. He's very tight-lipped about keeping their identities a secret. Also, he still has guilt from when his brother was on the Great Hiatus.

_The what?_

The Great Hiatus is the name many fans have given to the three years when Holmes was believed dead. (Arthur Conan Doyle did mean to kill him off, really, but everyone was begging for Holmes to come back so finally Doyle caved.) When he returns, he explains to Dr. Watson that he was in hiding abroad, and that only his brother Mycroft was aware that he was really still alive. This carries over into my version of things as well, and in my story, Mycroft feels guilty about having let Charlotte mourn her husband for three whole years when he knew that Sherlock was not actually dead.

_What was the business about Sherlock Holmes and Allan Quatermain meeting at the Crucible of Life?  
_  
That is from a book (which I have) entitled _The Great Detective at the Crucible of Life_, by Thomas Kent Miller. It's a crossover pastiche involving Quatermain, Holmes (who uses an alias), naturalist Thomas Huxley, and another detective character named Sergeant Cuff traveling to Ethiopia in search of the meaning of life. Well, more or less. It's a little chaotic, but fun, and when I discovered this connection between the two men, I simply had to take advantage of it.

_Is the Royal Victorian Medal real?  
_  
It definitely is. Queen Victoria established the medal in 1894, and it is still used today. It has three classes -- bronze, silver, and gold; the League was awarded silver, which is the most common. As she said in the story, it's usually awarded for "personal service to the Sovereign or the Royal Family." But I thought it was a good choice for her to give to the League for a couple of reasons. One, the recipient doesn't get any kind of designated title, like Sir or Dame, which I didn't want; they do have the right to put the letters R.V.M. after their name, but that's it. Two, one doesn't need to be a British subject in order to be given the medal, which was rather important for Tom and Nemo. The medal still looks just like I describe it in the story, except that the image and monogram are those of the current monarch rather than Victoria.

_What's Elizabeth going to do with the London house, since she's apparently staying on the ship?  
_  
Oh, she'll keep the house. Most of the time they continue to roam the world in the Nautilus, but now and then a break is welcomed and they head back to London. When Elizabeth has children, the house becomes more important; during more dangerous missions, they and little Jonathan are sometimes sent there for safekeeping. And it does belong to the kids for good and all; if you go on to read the Brink series, you'll find it plays an important role there.

_So...is this it? I mean, really? This is the last one?_

Like I said in the FAQ of volume IV, this was the last Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain.

After all...she's Elizabeth Skinner now.

(Don't you love a good loophole?)

_So there really __**will **__be more???  
_  
I'm not promising anything right now. But I have a couple of ideas wandering around upstairs, and the time may come when I'm able to flesh them into a further adventure for Elizabeth and company. In the meantime, however, I invite you to turn your attention to Shining Phoenix's "Brink" and its sequels. It will bring you into the 21st century and introduce you to a werewolf, a psychic, an archaeologist, a hydrokinetic, and several other fascinating characters -- including one who is extremely proud to be descended from three members of the original League. I'll meanwhile be wrapping up "Allan Observes" and producing the Alexandra edition of volume V. Also, if there are any particular scenes you would care to read from another character's point of view, mention it in a review and you just might get one of those extra one-shots I've been known to write.

_Will the connections between TPDoEQ and Brink be made clear in the context of that story?_

Yes, they will. Additionally, Phoenix and I are collaborating on a "wiki" which will showcase lots and lots of details about the characters and the world in which they live, including many details which never actually find their way into the stories. You can read about plot ideas which were abandoned, characters who are mentioned only by name, the authors of the books in which the original League first appeared, recipes for foods that are mentioned in the stories, and even mini-biographies of Phoenix, myself, and the assorted fan artists who have contributed art. This spoiler-laden wiki, which is by no means even close to being complete but is nevertheless available for viewing, can be found at http colon slash slash solomonmanor dot pbwiki dot com. (That's one way around FFN's block on URLs.) 

**Credit, thanks, and all that jazz  
**  
The basic premise of this story series is based upon the film The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, released in theaters July 11, 2003. The film in turn was based on the series of graphic novels of the same name by Alan Moore. In a general sort of way, everything you read in this series is the property of the much more clever people who were involved in those two projects, and I made absolutely no financial profit from the use thereof. The stories in this series were written out of affection and appreciation for the original works on which they were based.

The characters of Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde are from _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ by Robert Louis Stevenson.

The characters of Wilhelmina Harker, Jonathan Harker, Quincey Harker, and Dr. John Seward are from _Dracula _by Bram Stoker.

The character of Allan Quatermain is from _King Solomon's Mines, Allan Quatermain, The Ivory Child_, and other stories and novels by H. Rider Haggard.

The character of Captain Nemo and his amazing _Nautilus _are from _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea _by Jules Verne.

The character of Rodney Skinner is patterned, loosely, after the original Invisible Man, from the book _The Invisible Man _by H. G. Wells. Personally, I prefer Skinner's company, but that's just me.

The character of Tom "Special Agent" Sawyer is from _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Tom Sawyer Abroad, _and _Tom Sawyer, Detective_, all by Mark Twain.

The characters of Sherlock Holmes, James Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes, King Wilhelm, Queen Clothilde, Dr. John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and Wiggins are all from the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The characters of Charlotte Holmes and Lucy Holmes are from the (tentatively named) novel-in-progress _A Study in Charlotte_, by, well, me. They are mine. Seriously, no touchy. After the book comes out, you can write fanfic if you want -- it will thrill me to death -- but for now, please no. To give a bit of additional credit where credit is due, it was fanfic writer Melanthios who came up with Charlotte's name.

Her Imperial Majesty Queen Victoria belonged very much to herself, and to her empire.

The character of Alexandra Skinner, while of my own creation, owes almost the entirety of her personality and a great deal of her dialogue to my best friend Jessica.

Apart from what's already been stated as mine, the only things to which I can lay legitimate claim are the personality of Elizabeth (who says that she is perfectly capable of owning that herself, thank you very much) and a number of other original characters.

Special thanks and intense appreciation are extended to all of the readers and to several people in particular: my husband Kevin, my best friend Jess, all of the friends I have made as a direct result of joining the LXG fandom (and they are legion!), all of my fan artists, Teri the Wonder Beta (whose help on the third and fourth volumes was immeasurable), and the entire cast of LXG, particularly Jason Flemyng for being a sweetheart about those questions.

It has been a long and very curious winding road. But at least for now, Elizabeth's diary has been closed. I thank you all, from the bottom of my fangirly heart, for accompanying me on this strange, wonderful, exasperating, and above all else exhilirating journey. As ever...cheers, my freaky darlings!

Yours affectionately,  
_Lady Norbert_


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